Perseverance and Gentleness
by Mrs.A.x
Summary: "Tell me my lady, have we met before?" "Perhaps, I run through most men's minds"
1. Chapter 1

_**Yes another Anne/Charles story where they met before Anne met the King. I know, not the most original idea but if you watch the first meeting of Anne and Henry, Anne is paired up with Charles for the dance to begin so everything is based from that one scene (watch the background action in that scene really closely and you'll see what I mean)**_

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With a flourish of trumpets Master William Cornish, dressed as the Jester of Ardent Desire, entered the playing ground with eight youthful, masked Lords following closely behind. As he played with the crowd, swiping his sword at the cheerful audience and jeering at the Dark Ladies who threw flower petals, the Lords formed ranks and adopted a bow, their eyes averted from the white Graces. All except one who stole a glance at one of these ladies imprisoned high in the castle. The Lady Anne Boleyn, Lady Perseverance, how apt a title she thought for she was here to ensnare a King. Like all the graces, she was dressed in layers of gauzy white, with a stomacher embroidered in gold and a white and gold masque that covered her eyes. As the Jester and the Dark Ladies began the opening paré Anne scanned the masked men below her. She had briefly seen the King in the Palace of Illusions at Val d'Or when she was little concerned with him for Henry was her sister, Mary's, concern and quarry. Anne could recall his hair - short and cropped – that he was shorter than King Francis, somewhat attractive but definite features were hazy in her mind. This she blamed on the absurd amount of free wine Francis had provided. Not that it mattered, her father had conspired with Master Cornish that Anne be placed in the Kings way. That they had done, Anne was at the very top of the castle set with the King's sister, Margaret, stood beside her.

"As Ardent Desire, I demand you release your prisoners!" The crowd cheering Master Cornish's taunts and hissing the Dark Ladies playfully wicked retorts.

"As Lady Scorn, I laugh at your desires"

"These men are noble lords.."

"No," A Dark Lady interrupted, "They're just men dressed up"

"I say it again; release these fair damsels that you keep so cruelly"

"Never!" The audience booed the Dark Ladies.

"You give us no choice then, but to attack and breach your defences!" An uncouth snigger rumbled through all attending, audience and players alike.

"No Knight shall ever breach mine"

"Lady, desire overcomes all. Attack!" With a charge of buckshot and more trumpets the Lords stormed the make believe castle with only the Dark Ladies flower petals to stop them. A deadly arsenal for sure. The Lords took the nearest Grace all except one. He who spotted Perseverance made a beeline for her, hopping over fence and scaling wall with no opposition. He firmly grasped her hand and with an intake of breath, like an arrow through his heart and stared at Anne, she gazed back at him. Anne modestly lowered her eyes as Henry's eyes remained bedded on her face.

"Perseverance you are my prisoner now." The King half choked still holding her while clinging to the flimsy castle set. As the musicians below piped into song Henry recovered himself and finally climbed onto the balcony and Anne retreated down the stairs so that he may take her place beside his sister. The music blossomed into something different and filled the air with a sublime March Masque excitement. Anne joined with a Lord at the base of the stairs, his sash read 'Gentleness' something Anne doubted as she took in his marvellously masculine form and well muscled torso. She knew this was not the King and that he, as far as her father was concerned, was out of bounds to her yet her body felt drawn to him. His entirety lured her and she felt as though she should possess him entirely. However, she could also feel the eyes of her father scrutinising her every move. The lords led their captives back to the ground floor, where they broke to make two opposing lines, the white Grace on one side and the Lords on the other. Thomas Tallis silenced the musicians and the Jester's drum roll theme returned as he walked between the partners.

"And now all shall be unmasked!" Attendants stepped up from behind and undid the ribbons of the masques to a fresh and delighted applause. Anne felt the King looking at her out of the corner of her eye but the sight that she had before her fixed her where she stood; she was almost rendered incapable of speech and smiled coyly at this most handsome gentleman. He had short cropped hair like the King though it suited his squared jaw better where it made the Kings chin look pointy and boyish. His eyes, also like the Kings, were blue but softer; they looked at her with more playfulness and warmth where the King had a dangerous glint, a maniacal spark lurking in them. The musicians began to play a stately Pavane and the lords and ladies took to the formal patterns of the dance. They threaded through partners, each time Anne brushed past Gentleness her skin tingled with goosebumps and even the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood on end, longing to touch him. The King's searching gaze not going unnoticed, watched her like a hawk as she danced tantalizingly close, then drifted away again. The couples joined at the centre and formed the two lines again only this time they stood side by side with the Lord's hand draped over the Lady's. Anne's heart jumped as their skin touched and Gentleness smiled at her.

"Tell me my Lady have we met before" Anne stifled a giggle; surely this man of men was not using a dreadful chat up. She refrained from replying "_Only in your dreams my Lord"_

"Perhaps, I run through most men's minds" Gentleness gave a short laugh; he had expected her to react daintily and modest like most ladies at court.

"What is your name my Lady?"

"Perseverance" Anne flashed him a mischievous smile as the couples broke apart to form a circle with another couple. After a twirl, Anne was separated from her Gentleness and paired with the King.

"Who are you?" The King asked, his voice sounding mystified by the young beauty beside him. Anne gave him a faint smile and gingerly replied "Anne. Anne Boleyn". They danced on, the King moving closer to her than the dance required. He brushed his forehead against her hairline and took in her scent, a delicate mix of lilies and roses with an unknown fruity trace, before she drifted away again. Anne could not prevent the smile forming on her lips as she returned to Gentleness.

"What is your name my Lady" He quickly whispered as the dance crew to a close. The crowd erupted into applause before Anne could reply, not that she had any intention of doing so for mystique and intrigue were the greatest abilities any woman had at her disposal. The music ended and the dancers dispersed, Anne retreated to her father.

"Well done my daughter, you certainly held his eye in the dance. With a little more... perseverance and lure of the flesh it shan't belong before he is yours." A devils grin spread over Thomas Boleyn's face as he lifted his cup to his lips.

"Charles!" The King called to his friend across the room. William Compton and Anthony Knivert were already at Henry's side boasting and arguing over who had the prettiest dancing partner. Charles, however, seemed perversely distracted.

"Carew? Far too top heavy for me" William noted "Besides, I think we all know the prettiest creature out there was attached to Charles' arm." He continued, Charles drifting in and out of the conversation as he picked through the court trying to find his Lady Perseverance.

"What are you saying about my sister, William?" The King threw his arm over William's neck and held him in a firm yet playful grip. As the King and William boyishly wrestled, Anthony coolly turned to Charles

"She can't have been that pretty, Charles is still here." The trio laughed at Charles' expense but it didn't faze him. "Well Charles?" The spell weakened with every second he did not see her and soon he was composed back to his scoundrel self.

"Does it matter? They all look the same from behind" The group erupted into bawdy laughter.

"Come on, let's go play" The King announced as he led his troupe to the Palace sporting grounds. Charles followed willingly, though in the back of his head he had a longing for his Lady Perseverance.

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**Please review if you like it and want to see more of Anne and Charles. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you for the reviews; here is the 2**__**nd**__** part of who knows how many. **_

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It early June and King Henry's court was alive with exhilaration. Charles, on the other hand, felt listless and bored. With the numerous conferences with the imperial ambassadors, the Emperor's visit imminent and his sister about to depart for Portugal, the King had proved very poor company. Being so concerned with state affairs Henry had little time to hold banquets or dances, even the afternoon hunt or a game of tennis was becoming a rare occurrence. Of course, in such a situation Charles would turn to William or Anthony but since his investment to Duke of Suffolk they had been somewhat reluctant to be near him. They meant no ill will, it was simple jealousy and they would get over it. Eventually.

"The Queen's new ladies have arrived!" Charles heard a young squire excitedly squeal as though he had not seen a woman before besides his mother. Charles sipped his drink and smiled; regardless of his betrothal to Miss Elizabeth Grey, he could not deny himself the glimpse of a beautiful face or pair pretty breasts. Eight women were led through the court in a line of pairs, escorted by the formidable looking Sir Ashley Gross, to the Queen's chambers. The young men of the court swarmed to them like moths to a naked flame but were held back with one glance from beneath Sir Ashley's bushy brows, but his fearsome looks did not prevent them from trying to catch the eyes of the young women. Charles scanned the faces of the new meat and met disappointment; they were not ugly but not engagingly pretty either. Plain he thought. No challenge either, they could be classed as two sorts of women – the first being confident and probably give it away to the first page to help them carry something, the second would be shy and bound to be curious, either way they'd be on their backs soon enough. No sport at all. Then Charles noticed a young woman he had seen somewhere before. Her face was not one easily forgotten especially for Charles; then again he saw it impossible that anyone could forget such a glorious face. He'd seen her first in France at the Palace of Illusions and more recently at the dance of the Graces. His lost Lady Perseverance. Her sister had been the King's mistress for a time before, like so many others, Henry got bored of her. The name came to him at last; Mistress Anne Boleyn. Charles felt his heart surge in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of longing flooding his senses. The ladies past through the chamber doors and his Lady Perseverance was gone.

Anne walked in the procession of ladies somewhat solemnly contemplating her fate come mission. A pretty dress and a position in the royal household yet she felt little more than a whore. The jeering youths didn't help; it felt humiliating, as if they already knew what was to become of her. She walked on only taking in a brief glimpse of the sea of faces around her but something at the back of her mind was screaming at her, a creeping realisation. That face. She quickly turned her head to see it again, to confirm what she thought she saw but it was too late, the convoy of women had moved too far and he was gone.

Within days of Anne's coming to court there was another arrival. His Imperial Highness, Charles the Holy Roman Emperor. His royal chinness the King's nephew. Anne only saw him briefly but she did not like nor trust him; she had met him before in her childhood when she was in education under Margaret the Archduchess of Austria but the spoils of power had ruined the glimmer of goodness that he once had as a child. The Queen was ecstatic that her nephew had come to court and was adamant that she, and all her ladies, attend each event the King had laid out for the Emperor. Though for Katherine she would have many joys during this visit, not only was she seeing her nephew but her daughter, Mary, was to be betrothed.

Watching the Emperor and Princess Mary dance was a ludicrous, yet touching sight. He, being twenty-two and she only eight, towered over her while she had trouble keeping up with his bigger steps. To celebrate his daughter's engagement Henry held an outdoor feast. Thomas Tallis was leading the band as happy couples danced, a slight wind rustling through ladies' hair and blowing the clouds away, letting the sun shine on the palace's lush garden. As Anne watched the King dance with his sister, Margaret, she heard her father's orders repeat in her ear, "_Put yourself in the King's way." _Not that she saw a way in, with the Emperor being Katherine's nephew the King was paying Katherine especial attention and she was often at his side it would be near impossible for Anne to be subtle.

Charles was sat with Anthony and William as the King took to the floor with his sister. Margaret was a beautiful woman and naturally Charles' gaze was fixed on her. Tall and slender with grey eyes and silken hair bouncing freely over her shoulders. Dancing in her signature orange dress she was like a flame twirling over the floor.

"We're supposed to be friends Charles" Anthony continued the abuse he and William had been dealing, though Charles had paid little attention till now.

"Aren't we still?

"Not if you don't show us favour." William slyly remarked "It's within your gift to ask His Majesty to give us some titles...or at least some land"

"It seems that everything the King has to give, he's given to you"

"Jealous?" Charles smirked in response

"Naturally...As you rise, so too should we"

"So, what can we do for you, Your Grace?"

"Show me some respect." Charles said with a sterner tone. Annoyed and on the verge of losing his temper Charles got up from the table. He wandered through the crowd a little, sipping his drink as he went, taking in the sights and smells of the new arrivals at court. His eyes skimmed over the faces, nothing overly temping until he reached the King's table.

As the darling dance between the Emperor and Princess came to a finish, Anne approached the Queen's table and curtsied as she removed an empty dish.

"Madame". For a moment Katherine held her gaze, looking at the beautiful young woman with a kind of infinite sadness then waved her away. Anne, remembering her father's command moved away, placing herself in the path of the oncoming dancers, including the King. Henry turned away from his sister and all but walked into Anne. She lowered her eyes demurely and curtsied.

"Lady Anne" Henry said.

"Yes, Your Majesty" Henry just stared at her, saying nothing. Anne slowly raised her eyes letting them hang under her eyelids, sending Henry messages of delightful coyness and darker seduction as she met his gaze. His eyes were lost in hers. After a long silence, Henry stepped aside to let her pass.

"Forgive me" Anne nodded in acknowledgement and walked away. She returned to her father who was beaming with a hungry pride. It was like a jester's grin, wide and daunting, or perhaps the grin of a butcher as a plump lamb was brought to the slaughter. Once within reach he took Anne's hand and held it tightly.

"Oh Anne, if only your sister had the slightest part of your charm." He raised it to his lips and kissed it, his eyes sparkling a little more with the thought of his supposition. Her father rested his chin on his daughter's hand. "We would the most powerful family in England"

"Aside from royalty" Anne added; her tone somewhere between disbelief and caution.

"Of course" He agreed, though Anne could see his vanity questioned it. True, a cunning man like Thomas Boleyn could play a King like a good hand of cards and be the better for it but Henry was inconsistent and easily changed. Everyone knew the wrath of a King, even if temporal, was not something any man or woman should like to fall prey of, especially if they value their titles or lands or lives. With a triumphant laugh he let her go. For now Anne had finished her duties so she took the chance to steal away from the crowd and lose herself in the garden's maze. It was more than pleasant walking along the leafy maze, the crowd little more than a mumble; it had been the first time since her arrival at court that Anne had truly spent alone. Whether in the service of the Queen or at dinner, Anne was constantly surrounded by the chatter of the other ladies. Always trivial and shrill, to listen to it was like having an ants nest between her ears. Now there was nothing but the silence of nature; bird song and trees shaking in the breeze.

"Lady Perseverance" The intruding salutation caught Anne off guard and she gave a little shriek. There was a heady male laugh in response. "Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you, Mistress Boleyn." Anne would have made for the stranger but his voice, his face stopped her in her tracks. Lord Gentleness.

"You only startled me, Your Grace" She curtsied, it taking much of her control and will to maintain her air and wit where she wanted to fall in to his arms or turn in to a puddle.

"Your Grace? I'm still not used to that. Please, call me Charles" Anne nodded shyly restraining herself from smiling like an idiot.

"You may call me Anne if you like.. Charles" He smiled with a small laugh of satisfaction. Anne's mind was screaming at her to say something, anything would have sufficed, but she was spellbound .

"Would you walk with me? Anne" Charles held his arm out for her like a true gentleman and wholly uncharacteristic of him. As each became accustomed to the other conversation became easier.

"So, you are to Portugal soon with the King's sister. And give her away at her wedding, such an honour and a Dukedom in such a small space of time, I wonder how you can stand it being all so sudden."

"I have spent my whole life with the King; I am used to his impulsive decisions. It makes life interesting." Charles drew the couple to a stop, he placed his free hand over hers that rested on his arm and held her as close as he may while still being decent. "Anne. You should be wary of the King; he is fickle around pretty women."

"You think I'm pretty Charles?" Anne remarked playfully unaware of how close her innocent comment was to the truth. Charles motioned to reply but could not form the words only swim in her gaze.

"Anne, I wish you had told me your name at the dance, I half thought I imagined you." His voice was soft and how Anne wanted to drown in it. Her eyes drifted towards his lips, hovering there before returning to his eyes and back again. Anne could feel his breath on her mouth, her nose brush against his lips, the sweet crush so close, but she abruptly recoiled recollecting who she was and why she was at court.

"I must go back to the Queen" Before Anne could rush away Charles grabbed her arm in tender yet firm hold.

"Anne, I know what people say about me, it's probably true, but I should very much like to see you again." How could she deny him when he looked at her like a pup begging to be stroked?

"I do not wish to be the subject of ladies' prattle. Your Grace" With that Anne hurried away knowing that if she stayed any longer she would not be able to control her desire. The court were just as she had left them and barely noticed her absence, even her hawkeyed father showed no concern, then again he had already seen Anne and the King exchange so in his mind the day's battle was won. Anne joined the rest of the Queen's ladies at a table and looked at the King. What was his name in the pageant? Honesty. Anne laughed soundlessly to herself; what a picture of honesty he was, masquerading as the dutiful husband to the Emperor, promising Francis an everlasting treaty of peace. _Damn you Mary, _she thought, _If only you did have my charm, if only. _Anne pulled her gaze away from the King gladly and soon found the face of Gentleness staring at her through the crowd.

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_**End of part 2, please review if you like, if you have suggestions and/or you want to see more of Anne and Charles.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Apologies for the long wait, I've been on vacation with internet access. Thank you to Countess Cadhla for a couple of suggestions! Anyway, here's the 3rd installment, enjoy!**

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That night Anne dreamt of her Gentleness and the maze. They were running through it, or specifically he was chasing her, though she did not fear being caught. They kissed on the grass and lolled languidly on it and each other. In that world only they existed, the trouble of court and King absent from their minds. No father, no King, no titles or duty, only them. Anne woke with a start as Charles reached under her skirts. A rumble of summer thunder rolled over the palace and Anne cursed under her breath, how typical to wake up just when it was about to get interesting. In the dark she could just make out the figures of the sleeping ladies around her. She sat up and pulled her knees under her chin. Anne listened to the thunder for sometime as she replayed fragments of her dream. _Lady Anne Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk, _she smiled secretly before chastising herself and trying to sleep again. Little did she know that in the King's chambers Henry dreamt of a woman dressed in gold with raven hair.

With the Emporer's return to Spain life at court returned to its boisterous self. Horses charged up and down the tiltyard, lances poised and with a clash of wood on metal a rider was sent hurtling to the ground. The crowd applauded as the rider was dragged away and his shield was removed from the list.

"3 points to Mr. William Compton!" the announcer bellowed to another enthusiastic applause. Another pair of challengers lined up at bar. Anne sat beside the Queen, the eyes of the King glancing at her whenever the knights were not in play. There was a smash and the King roared with approval as another competitor was carried off.

"The Duke of Suffolk has now entered the list" Anne's breath hitched in her throat, she had not expected him to play today seeing how the voyage to Portugal was imminent. As he approached the royal pavilion the King suddenly got to his feet. Wolsey stood at the foot of the pavilion stairs with a man dressed in black holding a felt package.

"Sweetheart" Henry took the Queen's hand and pressed it to his lips. "Excuse me" His eyes lingering on Anne as he passed.

"Majesty," Charles nodded to Katherine. "Mistress Boleyn, will you do me the honour of allowing me to wear you favours today?" Anne looked to the Queen for permission before quickly scanning the field; her father was too engrossed with her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, to notice and her brother George was dallying with some pretty thing. She rose from her seat and undid the silky green ribbon tied around her wrist. Charles lowered his lance.

"I'm waiting to be impressed. Your Grace." She pulled the bow tight, lifting her eyes slowly to his face then returned to her seat. There was applause as he rode to his end of the yard.

"Mistress Boleyn" The Queen took Anne's hand; Katherine had been watching the exchange diligently. "Mr. Brandon's intentions are not always as honourable as I think you hope them to be." Katherine squeezed her hand a little and Anne nodded. "But," The Queen released Anne and turned her head to the yard, "He is a good man, perhaps, with a good woman by his side, he may become better yet." Katherine shot Anne a playful sideways glance.

"The Earl of Huntingdon challenges à plaisance" The page dropped the flag and the horses charged. Anne watched with baited breath as they approached, her heartbeat as audible to her as the sound of hooves pounding down the line. Lances hit but neither rider was thrown from their horse. They lined up again. Anne gripped the arm of her seat as the distance closed. Huntingdon missed. The force of Charles' hit threw Huntingdon clear from his horse at a considerable speed. Anne leaped to her feet and there was a muffled cry from the fallen knight. His attendant rushed to him, removing his helmet to reveal his bloodied head and carried him off the field.

"The Duke of Suffolk has won the day!" Charles paraded about the yard as the crowd cheered him. The King returned in time to reward him. As Charles approached the stand, Anne felt her heart kick-start with admiration and satisfaction. For such a modest tournament the reward was extremely lavish, as was the reward ceremony. To a fanfare of trumpets the King presented Charles with a large golden plate with the royal lion championing a lance etched into the centre.

_How subtle,_ Anne thought, _You may be today's Champion but don't forget I'm still better than you, _she glanced at the King before returning her attention to Charles. Prize in hand Charles turned and showed it off to the crowd to a cordial praise. The parade of triumph over, Anne and the ladies descended from the pavilion to converse with the crowd until Queen Katherine chose the most ill-timed moment to retire. Anne threaded through the crowd smiling and greeting the few familiar faces, exchanging the odd comment on the day's games, until a hand gripped her shoulder and a friendly voice saved her from small talk.

"Giving favours to Brandon now? What would Daddy say if he saw you?" George smiled as Anne spun round to face him.

"I was pretty and I was there, it was nothing. You know Charles, he can't help himself." The use of Charles' name struck George; as far as he was aware there had been neither occasion nor intimacy between families to warrant the use of first names.

"Charles? You're sure it was nothing? Anne, promise me you won't so anything... stupid"

"Me? Stupid? Impossible George, perhaps you should have given Mary that warning and saved us all a great deal of trouble." She wandered through the crowd a little more, her brother at her side like a trusty spaniel. "But now I think on it; the best friend of a King. There could not be a more influential stead than if I were to bed Wolsey" a horrid thought crossed her mind and a shiver of repulsion crept up her back between her shoulders.

"Anne," George sighed. There was a call for the Queens ladies.

"Don't worry about me brother, I can handle myself" She squeezed his chin playfully between her thumb and forefinger. Anne bid her brother farewell then turned away to follow the line of ladies leaving the field. William, Anthony and Charles were gathered by the armourer's tent reminiscing over their sport as the ladies filled past them. The former two ogled every maid that past; judging each detail of their body and face, their stares more suited to a meat market than the Royal court. Except Charles, the notorious rake, who looked at no other save for Anne. As she caught his gaze Charles shifted his stance raising his right hand a little where her green ribbon was tangled in his strong fingers. She demurely nodded and sneaked him a smile before losing sight of him, however, Charles remained on her till the last, watching her loose hair bounce on her shoulders with the rhythm of her steps and unashamedly lingering on her swaying hips.

"Not riding today your Majesty?" The question snapped Charles back to his companions. The King made some pitiable excuse about the Queen's concern for his safety.

"Women" Anthony piped into the conversation, a slight slur lining his words, "It were better they were born unable to speak" There was little laughter before Charles swooped in,

"Not at all. There's nothing I like to hear better than a woman begging for more or screaming my name." He flashed a suggestive smile before riding the waves of Henry and William's loud laughter with success.

"Come Charles walk with me" Henry threw his arm over Charles' shoulder and led him away from Anthony's scorn. When away from prying ears Henry turned to Charles.

"I have a favour to ask of you".

Since her return from the joust Queen Katherine had closeted herself in her private chapel, kneeling before a statue of the Virgin surrounded by flickering candles, praying that God would see fit to grant her a son. Meanwhile, her ladies plied their needles over the shirts and shifts she bade they stitch for distribution among the poor. However, the industrialism did not last and each found their own distraction; from time to time one would pluck desultorily at a lute, toy with the ivory keys of the virginals, or yawningly take up one of the edifying volumes about the saints' lives that Her Majesty encouraged them to take turn reading aloud. Anne was sat at the window with a book while most of the ladies were engrossed in a game of trumps. She could not focus on her text as the shrieks of others interrupted her concentration. She gazed wistfully out at the river, sighing longingly at the thought of the cool breeze and eyeing enviously those already strolling along its banks. Suddenly there was the echo of footsteps marching down the corridor to the Queen's Chambers. The ladies near jumped from their seats to smooth their dresses or pull back a loose strand of hair from their bonnet, each fostering a little hope that it was a suite come to court them. The door opened and Charles came with an attendant carrying a parcel of gold cloth. Anne had an ominous feeling stir in the pit of her stomach.

"Mistress Boleyn, may I speak with you privately." Charles asked with a flirtatious smile. The ladies giggled with excitement and envy in equal measure behind her as Anne stammered and left her place at the window. She followed him into the neighbouring room where the Queen sometimes sat for meals when not dining with the King.

"Charles" She began but was cut deftly in her tracks as she saw his manner drop, his eyes livid with jealousy.

"I am to deliver this" he gestured to the gold cloth "and this letter to you. From the King" Anne swallowed hard, it had begun. The attendant placed the parcel on the table and quietly stood to the side. Rather than leave Charles grabbed Anne's arm and firmly pulled her close so that he spoke almost directly into her ear. "He will not stop until you are a Whore and your house at Hever a brothel" Charles warned through his teeth. He threw the letter on top of the package and stormed out of the chambers. Anne stood frozen in the wake of the squall, the gold parcel beckoning her like the forbidden apple that doomed Eve, the door to Hell begging to be opened. Slowly she pulled back a fold of cloth then another, her heart beating in her throat. Four magnificent broaches gleamed up at her; one of rubies set in three circlets of gold, the second a precious stone set on gold and pearl like a blue egg on a golden nest, the third had small and large tear drops of pearls with gold and purple stones in the detail of a lion's head, and, lastly, layers of silver gold feathers laced with amber.

_Oh God_. Her hands shaking Anne reached for the letter and broke the seal. As she unfolded the letter a note fell out. It simply read 'The maze, tomorrow at noon – Charles'.

"You came?" Charles turned as the sound of Anne's footsteps crushing the grass alerted him of her presence. He watched her in awe; she wore a blue almost grey dress with white beads sewn into the bodice. It suited her more than well and reflected the light perfectly, though being of the Spanish fashion it covered more than what Charles wanted to see. She wore her hair loose, her shiny locks swaying free and gypsy-like. He wanted to run to her and gather her up in his arms but the dejected expression on her face warned him against his urge. She stopped short of him barely able to look him in the eye.

"And if I hadn't?" There was a silence. "Would you have found another? I know of your reputation _Mister _Brandon. You chastise me that the King shall make me a whore where you have done the same to others." Anne desperately tried to make her voice sound angry and resentful but even she wasn't convinced. As stupid as kissing Charles would seem when she was to seduce the King, Anne realised that was the only thing she wanted to do, more than anything. Her chest tightened when he looked at her. She motioned to say something but was caught under Charles' lips crushing the words into silence. His kiss was hard and filled with the sort of passion only found in tales of Knights. He snaked his hand around the back of her neck and her waist holding her firmly too him. Anne held his face in her hands before letting them explore his back and chest, feeling each of his muscles tense and relax under her touch. Charles ran his tongue over her bottom lip demanding admittance; willingly she obliged and parted her lips. He kissed her with such force and want that she had never experienced before, and she wanted more. It went on and on until she thought the whole world was involved in this kiss in Charles' mouth on hers. She could feel her breath speeding up. And yet, a sobering thought came to Anne and she abruptly pushed him off.

"No" She caught a gasp of air Charles kissed her again and was held back again; "no". Anne broke from his grasp and desperately held him at arm's reach. "Do not suppose you have any claim on me" the anger in her voice more out of bitterness at another thing she was to be denied and the knowing of harm to come. "You must never ask of me, never seek my company or attempt to send me letters." Anne ran away, Charles' calling after her all too loud in her ears. Only did she stop when she was safely within the walls of the palace and away from all human company. She let out a sob, her breath ragged as Anne fought the urge to cry. She hated her father, hated the King, herself, and all things in this tiny world of gentry. Anne had to get out of the gilded prison, leave to Hever and perhaps in time her heart will forget that the crown shall be her shackle.

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**Review if you like it, or if you don't...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Lieblings****! I come with another chapter, enjoy!**

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The next day Charles left for Portugal with Princess Margaret. He did not see Anne in the farewell company. Anne sat in the Queen's Chambers alone having excused herself from ceremony feigning illness, if only eluding the King were as simple. The following Sunday, as usual, the Queen and her ladies attended morning mass. Anne stood behind the Queen at the head of the ladies present as they awaited the King and his groomsmen. She wore a dark blue dress with pearls laced into the bodice with a sparkling white veil over the back of her hair. They remained for a while; the only sound the choir singing, until in the distance a muffled cry broke the serenity as a servant cleared the way for the King. Henry bid his wife good morning while Anne kept her eyes forward and as still as though Medusa had gazed upon her, the Queen blissfully unaware that as she turned to face forward Henry stole a glance at Anne. Their Majesty's stepped to the royal pews, Henry's attention still on Anne, his eyes quickly scanning her body. Anne did not need to be a psychic to know what he was thinking of. As the King and Queen took their places, Anne, the ladies and the King's groomsmen fell into place beside them. Antony stood beside Anne in Charles' sometime place, a pang of disappointment sunk in her belly. Knelt before the altar and Wolsey, the King looked at Anne again and she remained rigid, feeling almost like a spider trying to run across the room when it is suddenly noticed. Unfortunately, Anne was not alone in noting the King's wayward eye, Katherine, who had seen Henry take so many of her ladies into his bed, swallowed hard and restrained herself. Even after all this time and all the different women it still hurt that he should want another. Mass, which dragged normally, seemed to go on forever and an eternity. Every few minutes the King would look over as if he were checking that Anne was still there. It made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle and her heart race with nervousness, a single bead of sweat ran down the small of her back. Anne tried to focus her attention on the sermons and hymns but her mind ran away, wishfully dreaming of sailing back to France, or better, chase after Charles in a great galleon. The fantasy soon shattered by the King creeping down her bosom.

The service could not have ended sooner. Anne hurried after Jane Parker, who was walking painfully slow, to the Queen's Chambers, stepping on the train of her dress more than once. Finally inside, Anne threw off her veil and darted to her living quarter to change into something more comfortable.

"Tighter!" Anne barked at Jane as she tied the lacing of the leather stay.

"If I pull it any tighter it will choke you," Anne didn't care, she felt dirty, unclean and this was only the beginning of her father's exploit. Underthings laced and tied, Anne wriggled into a yellow dress with burnished orange pattern down the middle of the bodice and skirt; it had French sleeves, tight over the upper arm which fanned out over top of the forearm, unlike the Spanish fashion, that the Queen ordered they wear, that puffed out over the shoulder. At ease again Anne apologised to Jane before trotting out of the Chambers to seek her father, who had been his Majesty's guest ever since his eye lay on Anne, grabbing her golden parcel as she went.

As she walked through court the interest of all young men, high born and low, were trained on Anne. She had to admit she liked it, mainly it was harmless but it always brought a smile to her face that she, the sullen, dark haired siren was more desirable than her fair sister. She held her head high until she turned the corner to her father's door; yes he may have had a hand in raising her but since she had reached maturity Anne swore that ice water ran through his veins opposed to blood; and no George to protect her should he fly into a rage. Anxiously she knocked lightly on the door. Thomas Boleyn was engrossed in letters from France and commands from Wolsey. Ever the shrewd man, he had opened the curtains and the windows so not to waste a single candle and although the room was finely decorated, as were all the apartments at court, much of its finery was buried beneath yellowing pieces of parchment.

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"What!" He roared without looking up from a document. With an alien sense of confidence Anne approached his desk and dropped the King's gift on her father's work. He immediately looked up then returned to the package. Faster than a starving man could devour a slice of bread he tore at the folds of the fabric greedily. He froze as he beheld the four precious and, more importantly to him, expensive jewels.

"Oh my daughter," He gasped, running his fingers over the broaches. "You have out done yourself," he held the ruby and gold one up to the light and basked in its glimmer. Still riding his wave of satisfaction, Anne held out the King's letter, Charles' note having been long since burnt. "Dearest Anne," Her father read aloud from the letter,

"I grant you gold to crown you,  
A Royal Lion ever to be your guardian,  
A precious Vessel on precious nesting,  
And Silver wings to fly you ever fast to me.

These are the jewels of a Queen. Wear them, Queen of my Heart. H . R'

"Well, I cannot vouch for the King's taste in poetry but, my daughter, 'Queen of my Heart'," His speech broke into an exultant cackle. Anne took a deep breath, her confidence waning.

"Papa, I'm going back to Hever" His face dropped, "And I plan on returning the jewels," She braced herself for his wrath. The muscles in her face tightened as he stepped towards her anticipating violence. Yet nothing came. Her father's eyes were fixed on Anne but looked through her in thought. Absently he stroked his daughter's cheek.

"Yes, you cannot seem so easily won or he will tire of you. What is the hunt without the thrill of the chase?" Boleyn returned to his desk and resumed his work barely noticing Anne's departure. She left his room with a great shudder of relief.

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The next morning, Anne, dressed for travel, knelt at Queen Katherine's feet to formally take leave of court.

"I trust your Majesty will know the cause," she said softly. Queen Katherine leaned forward in her chair and gently took Anne's hands.

"I am sorry, Mistress Anne. Go with God," she pressed a dainty gold filigree cross into Anne's hand, "And know that you are in my prayers."

"Thank you, your Majesty" Anne whispered, her voice shaking. Impulsively, Queen Katherine gathered her close in a motherly embrace.

"Do not be afraid to weep when you are alone," she counselled, "Tears cleanse the soul and will give your heart a blessed relief. When Mister Brandon returns all will be well again, I promise" Her last words a whisper in Anne's ear. Anne roused a cheerful smile though in her heart and head she knew nothing would change, perhaps only that her father's ambition would grow. She bid farewell to all the ladies she had served with, her trust lying with Lady Anne Clifford that her gifts be returned along with a letter of her own.

"Lady Anne," William Compton called as she passed through the Great Hall. "First his Majesty's sister leaves us and now you. If this continues we shall have no beauties left at court," He bowed and formally kissed her back of her right hand. There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked up at her. "I'm sure Charles will be disappointed when he discovers you're gone." Anne snatched her hand from him. William wasn't a cruel man but he loved to be proved right and Anne's reaction had done just that, denying an infatuation would only confirm the notion. "Farewell, Mistress Boleyn, I hope you'll return to us soon." He bid with a faint laugh. Anne hurried away before anyone else could mention the Duke of Suffolk – it seemed everyone at court had not forgotten the brief exchange at the joust, all except the King.

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Anne climbed into the carriage and as the horses pulled her out of the city and into the countryside, the Queen's words played in her head over and over. The King is Charles' oldest and truest friend; if he were to know Charles' desire for Anne would he cease his pursuit? Even if the royal hound was restrained it would take no less than a miracle and then some for her father to allow a union between them. She heaved a sigh and leaned her head upon her fist, with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her mind Anne knew this was going to be a long journey. The carriage jostled her to and fro as it sped down tight country roads. When they came to change horses at Swanley Anne was more than relieved to be on _terra firma, _her stomach churning worse than a maelstrom. However, the respite was brief and soon Anne was back on the road trying not to vomit on the ornate seat pattern. When she felt the carriage slow and the dirt road give way to the crunch of small stones as they passed on to Hever grounds, Anne breathed slowly, constantly reassuring herself it was only a few feet more and she could escape this nauseating carriage. A line of servants were stood at the entrance ready to accept Anne and her belongings. They burst into life once the carriage stopped, scurrying from the new arrivals to the house and back like ants. George was waiting also. Anne's door burst open and George darted to Anne's side before she fell out. Gently he lifted her down and then made the tactical decision to move out of aim.

"Brother," She may have sounded steady like her sure self but her green complexion did wonders at ruining the charade.

Some days later Anne and George were sitting in the kitchen at Hever, Anne huddled in a cosy corner by the fire. It was the warmest place in the house, with a huge open fire and rows of ovens radiating heat. She wore a dress of off-white satin with cherry coloured roses and their leaves scattered in an untidy pattern. As anticipated, Anne's refusal did not dampen the King's desire but make the hunger greater. That morning an envoy had arrived carrying another parcel from the King and now Anne sat reading the letter aloud to her brother.

"Wait!" She was suddenly interrupted by George. "Give it to me," He tried to grab the letter but Anne jerked it out of reach and with a cheeky look eyed him. "Give it." She relented and handed it over. George read on; "... a place in your heart and _grounded_ affection." He looked up at Anne "Grounded affection?"

"Grounded" George gave an appreciative whistle and continued reading.

"Tell me at least that we may meet in private. I mean nothing more than a chance to talk to you" he raised a mocking eyebrow as Anne got to her feet, her pleas for the letter's return ignored. "I beg you, come back to court. And meanwhile accept this new gift and wear it, for my sake" He looked at Anne again. "What gift? And where is it?" With a graceful flick of her hair Anne indicated her neck. The shoulderless dress put the King's latest gift on display; a double string of pearls and gold and amber beads with a solid gold cross, inset with a large pearl. George stared at the necklace dumbfounded, "Oh Holy Jesus", before Anne snatched back the letter snapping him back to conscious.

"You're going to do it then? Become his mistress?" Where their father would have commanded this, George did not sound so certain.

"Sacrificed on the altar of parental ambition," Anne sighed quietly to herself so George barely heard her. She ran her finger tips over the pearl on the cross. "I have no choice," She replied cheerlessly. "You know father; it will be his Majesty's bed or a convent cot." Anne lent her head in her hands staring at the flickering fire. For a moment her thoughts ran to Charles, where ever he might be, and of the kiss in maze. Only a fool would hope but there it was, the smallest hope that her father may be struck with an epiphany of kindness, that she and Charles may marry and live happily with children and a fine house. Anne sighed resignedly, _Only a fool would hope._

From then on things moved quickly. Hoof beats came clattering urgently to Hever's door, and Thomas Boleyn flung himself from the saddle and rushed inside as if the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels. Within moments he stood before his children panting and dripping with sweat. The King had fallen from his horse, he was unharmed but he must have been shaken by the event for Anne was commanded back to court. At Thomas Boleyn's demand, an army of dressmakers descended upon Hever, and the rustle of costly fabrics, the snip of scissors, the snap of thread, and the chatter of women soon filled the sewing room. Lace makers, furriers, clothiers, perfumers, jewellers, shoemakers, stay makers, all rode from London as reinforcements summoned by her anxious father to outfit Anne.

Thomas Boleyn circled Anne appraisingly.

"Ah, the life of a court toady!" Anne announced as she stood upon a stool while a seamstress knelt to adjust the hem of her new pomegranate red gown. "Such backbreaking labour almost makes one envy a bricklayer!" This prompting George, lounging in a chair draped with swags of silk and lace, to burst into great, rollicking peals of laughter and earning himself a sharp cuff upon the ear courtesy of his father. In his chair George sniggered helplessly, despite his father's warning stare.

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With her sumptuous new finery, Anne returned to court and resumed her duties in Queen Katherine's household. Her Majesty was pleased to see her return, Anne felt likewise though guilt haunted the reunion, how could she be loyal when she came to court to bed the King. Charles was still nowhere to be seen and though it saddened Anne she knew it was for the best – that which is least mentioned heals fastest. The night of her return Queen Katherine was to attend the knighting of William Compton and Anthony Knivert, so Anne, despite her weariness from travel, was called to be present.

The King was making his way through the Great Watching Chamber when he saw Anne. He bid all the Queen's ladies a welcome but lingered on her, she was wearing the gold and pearl cross he sent.

"You are back at court, I see" He feasted his eyes on her a moment; she was wearing the same silver blue dress as when they met at the picnic for the Emperor and it made him glad to see her in it again, even if it subdued her chest more than he liked. Until that moment, Anne had only been something the King could admire from afar but now that he was close, now that she could feel his breath something in her stirred.

"May I see you privately?" He said discreetly. Anne nodded in agreement; it was the little she could do without losing her composure. She could not believe the betrayal of her body, that she wanted to give over to the King, to Henry, and let him have her in any way he wanted. She felt George sneak up behind her and take her hands but her gaze remained fixed on the King. She had never truly taken a good look at him, before he had always been the King and nothing more but now she saw the man. The young man, with a handsome face and athletic physique. Anne watched as the King and Queen sat, George fussing over the placement of her necklace, and basked in a little smug satisfaction as the King's eye remained on her.

A short time later, Henry detached himself from his courtiers and went to meet Anne Boleyn. She was waiting for him outside the chamber in one of the palace's many galleries. She breathed heavily and looked around her as though she had lost something. Upon sighting the King she calmed. Henry took her hand, it was soft and she was beautiful, he pulled her closer. He felt like a boy not a King, meeting with his sweetheart in the shadows, anxiously on the lookout in case of intrusion.

"I've dreamt of this moment a long time" He whispered, "Anne, you must know I desire you with all my heart." Henry traced his hand along her arm, over her neck, slowing to regard how his necklace looked on her, and lingering over her breast. Suddenly he grabbed her neck, his thumb holding her chin in place "The young man you were dallying with earlier, who was he?"

Anne smiled, "My brother George." At her words, Henry relaxed with a little laugh of relief; he softened his grip to a caress and gently drew her toward him. After the earlier difficulty he'd had in seeing her, he expected some resistance, but she gave him none. She glided into his arms as if she belonged there. Henry kissed her, long and deeply. At last at last. He gazed into her wonderful eyes which seemed to shine with a light of their own even in the dull passage. They kissed and it was everything he had dreamed of and more. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her a third time but there were footsteps in the corridor and they broke guiltily apart.

"Her majesty expects me"

"Later?" Anne dropped a quick curtsey and hurried away into the shadows just as Anthony and William turned the corner

"Who was that your Majesty?" Compton asked.

"Just a girl" Henry said softly "Just a girl."

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Meanwhile, in the port of Lisbon, Charles was waking from spending another night in the bed of the soon to be Queen of Portugal. Margaret was listless and waiting antsy at the window of the ship's stern.

"I should hate you" She said coldly.

"But you don't. I know you don't" He placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly and though she stirred some compassion in him, Charles wished that he had spent the night with Anne instead.

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**Please review if I've lost my juju and the quality has gone from good to suckish!...but also please review if you like the story or want to see a particular scene. **

**(BTW any TrueBlood fans out there? Season 3 ending OMG!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**This only occurred to me after I submitted the last chapter; I can't believe, for all the begging I've done, I haven't once thanked you all for the reviews. You have no idea how much they mean and what delight I get when I see the notification email. So thank you; thank you for your support, your encouragement, and your patience. Anyway! On to number 5...**

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"Anne!" George called for his sister. The King had sent another messenger to Hever with a letter for Anne Boleyn. Like a schoolgirl Anne skipped to her brother's side, her delight clear to all, totally unconcerned that she was still in her nightdress and robe. She playfully snatched the parchment from George's hand with a smile and scampered back to her chamber before her father could take the precious letter from her. She closed the door behind her and threw herself onto her bed feeling decidedly giddy. As she ran her fingers over the wax seal she wondered how Henry had written this; maybe he had laboured for hours, restlessly trying to conjure words adequate for wooing, or perhaps it had all come to him in an abrupt flurry of vision... or worse that he wrote this off the backside of one of the Queens' ladies. Anne batted the last thought from her mind knowing he was enamoured with her and with intrepid hands broke the seal. She paused on his lettering; she loved how his words looked even without reading them, the way the O circled and flick away from each word.

"_My dearest Anne, perhaps you don't understand. That I can't sleep, I can hardly breathe, for thinking of you. Your image is before my eyes every waking second. I almost believe that I would sacrifice my kingdom for an hour in your arms..._

Anne was so engrossed in the letter she did not notice her father slip silently into the room.

... _I beg you, name some place that we can meet, and when, and I can show you truly an affection which is beyond a common affection" _She looked at the signature, "_Written with the hand of your servant, H. Rex" _A smile spread itself across her lips and the cosy warm feel of utter contentment washed over her. She tucked the letter inside her bodice but noise made her look up. Her father moved forward swiftly, his hand outstretched. Anne had no choice but to surrender the letter. Quickly he scanned it, and then he looked at his daughter with obvious satisfaction.

"Now he is 'your servant'. With some subtle care, and the lure of your flesh he may become something even closer." he kissed her on the head and walked out with her letter. Anne sighed and the smile faded from her face. A sweet misery engulfed her. She had not expected to feel like this, not at all.

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For days Anne sat at her desk with quill in hand and plenty of parchment but no words came to her. Several times she began a sentiment then quickly crushed the page in her hand upon realising losing her concentration. In frustration she flung her pen down with a splattering of ink over another page. The more she thought the more irritated she became, she had the sharpest wit of any woman this side of the Chanel but here she found herself wordless. To the side of her work lay a small silver portrait of Anne which she intended to send to Henry. Distracted, she took it up and opened it; Anne wasn't entirely sure she liked the picture and she so wanted to impress the King. The night at court where she had held the King's gaze throughout the night fixed itself in her mind and she succumbed to a smile. If it hadn't have been for his kingship and public decency, Anne believed the King would have gathered her into his arms there and then. However, the vision was rudely interrupted. Sir Thomas Boleyn burst through her chamber door startling Anne.

"Is it not custom to knock before entering a ladies' room?" Anne bit back a shout. In any normal situation such a remark would earn her harsh reprimand or even a strike should her father be in a foul mood, however, now was not such a case.

"I have news from London; just this week the King was taken ill after an accident while hunting, thankfully he is much recovered, however, the event has brought his desire for an heir to a forefront. But that is not all..." Thomas Boleyn called for his son to join them. As George entered the room their father stepped forward to his child and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, "His Majesty has decided to elevate me to the peerage as Lord Rochford." Boleyn's smirk widened into a Cheshire grin while George was dumbstruck. "And it is all thanks to you, my brilliant daughter." With an approving pat Boleyn strode out of his daughter's room. "Who knows George; now that his Majesty's sister is a widow perhaps you'll be as fortunate as your sister." The news of the Princess Margaret jerked Anne from her daze and pleasant tightness grabbed her. For Margaret to be widow then she must have arrived in Portugal and is now homeward bound. _Charles._

Days waned and nights passed slower than Anne wished. The King's letters were left unanswered and packages of valuable gifts piled in Anne's room as she stood idly by while her father prepared for his appointment. As a clothier measured George's height for his Robes of State, Anne found her mind wandering to a most welcomed distraction; _Is Charles taller than George? I wonder if he has grown very brown in Portugal. They must have been at sea for at least two weeks now. Why has there been no news? What if something has happened to their ship? Perhaps caught in a storm or boarded by pirates..._

That is how her mind preoccupied most of its time until the day the carriages were lined outside the house awaiting to take the rising family back to London. Anne was dressed in a fine white and black dress so that she may impress all and any even as she clambered out of a coach. However, as she descended the stairs that morning she could already feel herself turning green at the prospect of another, long, jostling, carriage ride.

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Although unable to attend the naming ceremony, as typical of protocol, the greatest news of the day did not fail to reach Anne's ears. The doors to the Queen's chambers were flung open by none other than the Queen in an uncharacteristic moment of rage. Her ladies leapt to their feet and ducked a curtsey as Katherine paced the room muttering to herself in Spanish, though the words were unknown to Anne their meaning was clear.

"Hijo bastardo de puta! How dare he? That fraud Cardinal thinks he can place that bastard child above her, above my daughter! Espero que se pundra en el Infierno!"

The Queen's mood did not improve. The slightest mishap sent her into a fury, she even sent a young servant scuttling back to the kitchens in tears after accidently knocking the Queen's goblet over. Wherever Catherine went her abhorrence of the Cardinal weighted the air of a room like smoke and set the nerves of all around her, her ladies not daring to speak for fear they may provoke the Queen.

Katherine sat rigidly still in her bath moving only to lift her arms that her maids might roll back her bath-shirt to wash her arms. All was silent save for the lapping of the warm water.

"Mistress Boleyn," The Queen unexpectedly addressed Anne, "It is good to have you in my services once again, and I hope you will not have to run away this time. Forgive me if I have made your first days back at court unpleasant." With an elegant wave of her hand Katherine dismissed the other attendants. There was a moment of silence as the Queen reflected on her thoughts but finally she spoke again.

"You know something Mistress Boleyn, sometimes I think to be Queen is the loneliest existence in all the world... or to be Queen of England it seems so." She gave a little bemused laugh. "The King's bastard is made both Earl and Duke in a single day whiles my daughter, the true and rightful heir to the throne, has nothing."

"Your Majesty is forgetting her engagement to the Emperor." Anne added, taking the Queen's hair in hand and wetting it.

"No, I am betrayed by my nephew. He has married his other cousin, Isabella of Portugal." Katherine let out a long sigh of contemplated sorrow. Unexpectedly her face brightened as she banished her sadness, "But Lady Anne you must be excited, now that his Majesty's sister is returning and Mr. Brandon also." Anne smiled and her heart kick started with butterflies, she would not even try to hide her happiness at his return. She massaged a brown mixture of henna, indigo and lemon pulp to the Queen's scalp, the dying of her Majesty's hair had become a more frequent practice since she had noticed her dark Mediterranean locks begin to grey at the temples.

"Thank you Lady Anne," The Queen dismissed her to wait while the blend would need to sit for an hour or more. Anne backed away from the tub and bowed her head. She departed in sombre spirits, though the mention of her Gentleness' return the Queen's former words had struck Anne. To be Queen, or at the very least Queen to Henry, was a lost and friendless title. To be so easily abandoned by your husband and unable to trust those closest to you for fear of treachery, could a crown truly be worth such unhappiness? The notion troubled Anne, not only was this an echo of what may become of her, another King's mistress discarded as easily as his aging Queen, but Anne was fuelling Katherine's sorrow, another courtier deceiving the Queen so she might seduce her King.

The following morning the Queen closed herself away in her private chapel and Anne sat absentmindedly thumbing through her copy of _Le Morte d'Arthur _when Mary Scrope, another lady-in-waiting to Queen Katherine, disturbed her reading. Mary wore a smile like a schoolgirl discovering a secret. Anne did not look up from her book for some time till she realised Mary would not speak until she had Anne's full and sole attention.

"Lady Scrope," Anne began with a heavy sigh of tedium, Mary was in no way disliked by Anne but Anne could not abide such childish behaviour in someone beyond ten and three summers. "Come now, out with your hearsay before I declare you struck dumb in innocence." Mary did not catch that Anne had indirectly called her an idiot, but then the apt use of words was not Mistress Scrope's greatest virtue.

"His Majesty wishes for you to join him in the privy gardens" Mary succumbed the order with a blush. A wave of panic blossomed in Anne's bosom; she had not intended to grace the court outside of the Queen's chambers and was now summoned to the King's presence in an average looking gown and her hair on the verge of desperately needing a wash.

"Thank you Mary" Anne swallowed as she rose from her seat. There would be no time to fully prepare her self for the King so Anne hurriedly tucked her hair in a loose lace veil so that its shape was held while its state was mercifully hidden. Then, with a smoothing pat of her gown, Anne left the Queen's chambers for the palace's pleasure gardens which were in full bloom. She found the King alone, save for a few guards he was always followed by. Anne stopped by the door and curtseyed to the King before he bade her approach. Henry was stood by a bundle of rose bushes, both red and white. He held some petals rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger.

"What a rare blossom you are Mistress Anne. An English rose who weathered the licentious storms of the French court and come home to us unplucked. The King of France, I am told, is an ardent gardener and often gathers a beautiful bouquet for his bedchamber. How is it that this rose escaped such attention?" Henry dropped the petals and gazed longingly at Anne.

"One can attract attention without bestowing one's favours, Majesty. I could never surrender my honour so cheaply." Anne averted her eyes from the King and involved herself in the blooming flowers.

"Cheaply?" the King repeated incredulously, "Some would hold it a great honour to be the mistress of a King."

"But as your Majesty rightfully observed, I am a rarity. Never would I sacrifice my virtue for a brief, fleeting favour found between royal sheets. A rose does not survive long once plucked." King Henry just stared at her, their pulses throbbing. His fingers tightened around the stem of scarlet rose and there was a sharp snap as he broke it from its fellows. He held it up and twirled it slowly, carefully observing each single petal.

"Roses are meant to be plucked, lest they should wither on their stems, petals by the winds and rains dispersed and trodden underfoot." He held the flower out to Anne and as she rose her hand to accept it Anne noticed the silver locket hanging from his neck. She had never finished the letter she had intended to send with the miniature, for a moment she was perplexed by Henry's possession until she recognised her father's work.

"You admit you are a rarity, perhaps now I prove you are most worthy of my love." Henry silenced yet Anne knew there was more he wished to say but perhaps did not know how to. They remained looking at each other for some time, Anne felt utterly drawn to him this magnificent man of presence and intensity. The scene was perfect; a fine summer's day and a garden in bloom, two sweethearts meet clandestinely. Her eyes darted to his lips and consented to a single sweet kiss.

"You may return to my Lady the Queen now, Mistress Boleyn." Henry swiftly broke away from her and marched past to the door where Cardinal Wolsey stood waiting. Anne remained still until all had left the garden except her. She inhaled the perfume of the rose, lightness sat on her brow and for a moment Anne thought herself wooed and began a long wander back to the Queen's chambers. She detoured to her father's chamber where she found him, as always, hidden beneath a mountain of communications.

"Did you send the locket to the King?" Her father did not look up from his work, "Did you forge my hand and send a letter to the King without my consent?" She said this time her tone a little more severe. Though what good it did, Thomas Boleyn remained concentrated in his correspondence with France.

"Yes." He said nonchalantly, "I used little of what you had already written, embellishing your feelings of modesty at '_such wondrous gifts' _and how his Majesty's affections have touched both your '_heart and soul'_. I thought it well crafted." Only then did Boleyn halt his pen and look up at his daughter. "Has something happened? Has the King visited you?" Anne gaped at her father then threw the rose down on his desk with indignation before storming out of his chambers. Once back in the Queen's chambers Anne tore off the lacey veil and threw her body into a chair in livid humiliation. She looked to her discarded book; embossed in the maroon leather, a small knight and his horses stood at full tilt, and she suddenly felt ashamed.

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Nights later the court were at leisure after having dined splendidly; there had been trays heaped high with crayfish, mutton, venison, chicken, beef, and fish; fritters, tarts made of custard and fruits, nuts, and spices; great rounds of cheese; loaves of bread, with fresh churned butter, honey, and several kinds of jam; and, in the centre of it all, a magnificent boar's head with gilded tusks sat proudly. Good mood flowed through the court like a lively spring; however, for Henry it was another night of stolen glances. The King sat with his Spanish Queen by a great fire being served mulled wine. However, the King's attention was torn from his wife by the joyful sound of dancers and young partners. At the centre of it all Anne Boleyn, in a dark red dress, spun and hopped to the music, occasionally lifted by a nameless youth as the dance shifted from Galliard to Volte. They were the very epitome of youthful courtly love. The King looked at his wife; the strains of child bearing and the slow decay of time had taken their tolls on the woman who had once been regarded as 'the most beautiful creature in the world'. Her weathered hands, the deepening lines building trenches along her eyes, and her plumping frame did little to rouse the passion Henry had once felt for his bride and the lack of an heir did much to wither whatever love there may have been between the two. Anne on the other hand was still in the summer of her life, her looks unmarred by Time's jealous hand. Henry turned his attention back the dance with enthusiasm and engrossed himself in the twirl of red fabric. The youth lifted Anne up, his hands firmly set on her hip, and Henry found himself drowning in the spectacle. He gazed after her like a love struck schoolboy, sighing to himself with longing that he wasn't her partner for this and every dance hereafter. _And who was to blame_? He thought, _The Spanish Frump. _Suddenly, just as the dance drew to a close, Henry and Anne's eyes locked. The musicians slowed and Anne curtseyed, no doubt directed to the King, her eyes demurely lowered and daintily seductive but all too soon she was gone.

"Sister" George Boleyn handed Anne's drink back to her. "I'm surprised he wasn't panting and howling after you like a dog." He had meant it to be a compliment.

"You shouldn't say such things" Anne fixed him with a cold stare. The mischievousness drained from his face and he stuttered an apology. With an anxious swig of her drink Anne watched the King from afar, her attentions barely hidden by the swarm of court. Their father sidled over, his vanity and pride most apparent. In a silent exchange he glared down at his daughter with satisfaction then led George away to the coos of "my lord" and "your grace".

From that night till the day Anne left the palace for her lady's monthly break from court was the King who most often availed himself of her services. He summoned her to his drawing room to play her lute and sing for him, or read aloud when his eyes wearied, or to walk with him by the river or in his pleasure gardens. Dutifully, she hunted and hawked and danced with him. She diced and risked fortunes at cards with him, and applauded his performance at the tennis court, bowling green, tiltyard, and archery butts. The day before her departure a letter stamped with the Royal Seal arrived at Thomas Boleyn's chambers, directed here so that Anne's seduction may be kept from the Queen for a little while more.

_My Dear Anne,_

_I and my heart put ourselves in your hands, begging that your affection for them should not grow less through absence. For it would be a great pity to increase their sorrow since absence does it sufficiently, and more than ever I could have thought possible. I would you were in my arms or I in yours for I think it long since I kissed you. As I cannot be with you in person, I am sending you the nearest possible thing to that, namely, my picture set in a bracelet. Wishing myself in its place, this by the hand of, _

_Your loyal servant and friend,  
Henry R._

And though the words pleased Anne her mind was near constantly occupied and troubled. A full month had passed since the first news of Princess Margaret's widowing and still her ship had not sailed up the Thames. Anne thought often of Charles, worrying for his safety before becoming ashamed at receiving the King's affections so boldly. As fond as she was of the King he did not ignite in her that spark which she ever felt upon the slightest thought of her Gentleness. It was like a whirlpool, dragging her down further and deeper and beyond her control, she felt like little more than a card in her father's hand and the gambit grew higher with each courtesy. Then the stakes were raised to all-in.

While at rest at Hever King Henry burst into the house, crying for Anne and nearly shaking with his suppressed passion. He found her in one of the galleries and repeated her name with relief then crushed his mouth against hers greedily. He was a man intoxicated. His arms encircled her, drawing her ever closer "Anne", he said for the third time. He smiled lovingly at her, his eyes bright, confident but his next words did not have their intended effect.

"_Maitresse en titre_...Your official Mistress..." Anne turned away from him, her face downcast. Henry frowned and snatched her hand to make her look at him. She turned a reproachful face to him and said sadly, "what have I done to make you treat me like this?" Henry was confused; in any other case his quarry would fall docile into his arms. What should have been a happy occasion where the two could declare their love official took a sour turn as Anne defended her honour. Henry hated to be shown something he could not have.

"I know how it goes otherwise. My sister is called _the Great Prostitute _by everyone." Henry looked at her, stunned. Confused emotions roiled around in him. No woman had ever refused, him, let alone deemed his intentions an insult.

"I am sorry if I offended you. I did not mean to. I spoke plainly of my true feelings." He said stiffly. Anne lowered her head again.

"Majesty" Henry had no choice: he turned and stalked away. He stormed down the stairwell, red-faced and humiliated, and came across Thomas Boleyn waiting for him at the entrance to the hall. Boleyn bowed as the King past him; Henry didn't so much as acknowledge him. He strode out of the castle, mounted his horse and galloped off. Henry rode fast down the hard-baked earthen road, escorted by two yeomen of the guard, their horses' hooves churning up clouds of dust. Boleyn listened to the sound of the horses' hooves receding, and gave a small satisfied smile.

"That was well done daughter" he told her, "Very well done indeed."

"Was it?" Anne asked quietly. Boleyn stepped forward and peered at her face in surprise. She was on the verge of tears. She stared at her father a moment.

"Was it?" she repeated bitterly, and fled the room.

For the rest of the day Anne's spirits could not be raised, not that her servants and particularly not her father tried. She would not smile again until George arrived home freshly from London the following day, his visit both informal and on a mission as the King's courier. Anne and George were sat in the kitchen at Hever, the day reminiscent of the time George stole her letter that had accompanied the gold and amber cross. George rambled about some court gossip which Anne had no interest in, the usual royal rumblings mainly, until he retrieved a letter from his doublet and like a conjurer he taunted Anne with it. Anne snatched at it already knowing it would have come from Henry. The black spell over her broke as she took the letter in hand; she made for the seal but remembering George's penchant for nosiness she tucked the parchment into her bodice safe for opening later when she might be alone. George laughed at his little sister then took up an apple and bit into it.

"Oh" He began with a mouth full of fruit, "This will make you laugh. His Majesty's sister has finally come home. But!" he took another bite of the apple, "that bloody idiot, Brandon, has married her!" His words struck Anne like a cannonball to the gut. So many emotions battered her senses she did not know which was stronger, her sadness, her rage, her jealousy? It felt as though her heart had been torn still beating from her chest and squeezed like a lemon till it was empty. The colour drained from her face and Anne sat beside her brother before she could fall.

"What a fool." She said, her voice level and void of all feeling, dead.

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**Disclaimer – I have no idea if ladies in waiting really left court once a month, probably not, but it was the only thing I could think of to excuse Anne leaving court every other scene (I know, such an original idea isn't it)**

**More Charles/Anne next chapter I promise! Feel free to review, if you have any criticisms please mention them :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello all, apologies for the long wait. Not entirely satisfied with this chapter, feels too much like the last but to omit it would leave big gaps in the timeline. **

**Someone asked if I knew of any other Anne/Charles fics, I would highly recommend this video youtube .com/watch?v=1idt25AYSYI and all ****heartofsnow23 's work. I**** had been playing with the idea of A/C fic but this inspired me to finally write it**

**ANYway.**

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Since the news of Charles' marriage the days at Hever seemed to be perpetually grey. The roses in the garden remained closed, birds sang no songs, and a cold rain drizzled over the lawns. Anne Boleyn moved from one room of the castle to the next like a ghost, silent and unseen; her gloomy presence noticed by no one, excused away as fondness for the King and a longing to return to court. On this particular night she was alone in her bedchamber, the door barred with her best attempt of pushing the dresser against it. Frigidly, Anne lay curled up on the floor by a fire; in her hand she held the King's latest missive, delivered the same day as the dreaded news. She had read it and reread it so many times she has lost count, the fresh parchment frayed at the edges with frequent use. Other papers lay scattered around her like autumn leaves; poems, letters, notes, a song, and a pamphlet by Martin Luther she had been trying to read days previous.

_I tell you, I pledge to you all my honour, love, and service._

The words she had pored over and dismissed as her mood flung her from the melancholic to the elated. Henry's letter continued:

_I have given you my heart, now I desire to dedicate my body to you. Written by the hand of him who in heart, body, and will is your loyal servant. H.R_

She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath at the heart felt emotion in his words. Then there was the little heart between the letters H and R. The King of England sending loves notes like a schoolboy; it was plain to anyone that he was falling, if not already fallen, in love with Anne. Something inside Anne tugged her heart, like an unseen force was timidly keeping her alive. She'd never expected to feel anything of Henry; the way she had startled George when he stole this very letter by the passionate vehemence in her voice demanding its return.

"_You're not in love with him – are you?" _Anne had not answered. But what if she did? Even a little? Then there was Charles, her sweet Gentleness. He might have well perished on the voyage from Portugal for all the good his return was worth. At least then Anne might be spared from seeming his glorious face and his love given to another woman. Her heart was closed up like Pandora's Box and somewhere in the dark pit Hope crouched in the corner, wishing that Charles would return to her. But it was too late and the course was begun; the dogs released from their cages. Her family was depending on her. There was no option left but to see it through to the end.

.

When dawn rose over Hever, Anne emerged from her chambers, having barely slept, and went out in to the grounds. The house was silent; the majority of the servants still asleep save for a few whose tasks were vital to the household's life – the cooks stoking the fires, the swains tending the coops and sties. The fresh morning hit Anne as she passed through the kitchen door to the yard; it had rained during the night and there was a faint damp in the crisp air. She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, letting the perfume of the morning linger in her lungs; it was the smell of autumn. She couldn't believe that August was almost over already, the King's summer courtship had past so quickly. Slowly she made her way through the yard to the smithy. The man her father employed had been a young man at the Battle of Bosworth, he had lost the sight in his right eye and now only ever occupied when shoeing horses or repairing tools but he had a gift for crafting jewellery. Anne found him already working on a piece of strip metal that glowed orange hot.

"Mister Ferrer" Though he nodded in acknowledgement he did not stop his work and continued to tap a rhythm on the anvil. Finally, when he was content that no more could be done without reheating the metal, he lay down his tools and addressed the mistress.

"Lady Anne," He ducked his head, "How may I be o' service t' you this morning?" Anne faltered for a moment, her attention fixed by morbid curiosity on the large scar that ran from his hair line down over his misty right eye and cheek.

"I need you to make something for me. A trinket." She explained to him the specifics of her design; a small golden ship, no larger than the mouth of a small glass, with the figure of a woman, also gold, sails filled with small diamonds and a diamond pendant hanging from the ship's bow. The idea had come to Anne in the night whilst deciding her next move, she had to submit to the King but it would be beneath her to do something so simple. The trinket Henry would interpret as a submission, a declaration of her love for him, but its meaning was not so plain that it was limited to a single explanation. The woman was a captive, bound by the promise and the exchange of gold, on his Majesty's ship. The diamond was her heart, but not as told in Roman de la Rose; A_ heart as hard as a diamond, steadfast, never changing. _No, her inspiration came from the Lady of the Lake's advice to Lancelot;

_A knight should have two hearts, one as hard and impenetrable as diamond, and the other as soft and pliable as hot wax. The one which is as hard as diamond should oppose those who are treacherous and cruel._

After some thought, and a few calculations, the craftsman consented to her request and Anne paid him a purse to cover the cost of materials. She left it in his charge yet was deeply troubled. Overhead masses of dark clouds had gathered ominously over the pale sky. A storm was coming. It was appropriate, Anne felt. God she knew what would come of this.

.

Within days of her ship shaped trinket reaching the King, Henry rode fast down the hard road to Hever, escorted by two yeomen of the guard, their horses' hooves churning the mud. He drew his horse to a start stop inches from colliding with the entrance and leapt from the beast's back, landing with a soft crunch, and paused in awe at the sight above him. Anne stood in the window framed, like a master's painting, by the crawling ivy and fine glass. Her eyes were staring straight at the King, then, abruptly she turned away and disappeared from sight, even as Henry breathed a long sigh and shuddered with desire. He burst into action and flew through the halls of Hever until he found himself in his love's arms.

He pinned Anne beneath him with his arms, "My own heart, my life, my lady" he gasped between kisses, each passionate with lingering wonder. She kissed him back, first the corner of his mouth, then nibbling on his lower lip. She opened her mouth to his and pressed her slender body against him. Drunk with love and lust, Henry lifted his face to look at her, "I lay claim to your maidenhead," he said softly, and kissed her breasts. Anne smiled lazily and a shiver of desire rippled through her as she pushed a faint trace of betrayal to the back of her mind.

"And I make you this promise. When we are married," the King interrupted her with a kiss; "I will deliver you a son" They were the words Henry wanted to hear most above everything else. They inflamed his desire and he dealt a hard, urgent kiss. He withdrew from her breasts and knelt, placing her left leg around him and reached under her shift.

"Sweet Anne. Oh sweet Anne", He kissed her again, a groan of frustration escaping his throat as he ran his hands feverishly over her. This, this moment, Anne's body, was what he craved and dreamt of night and day. Silently his eyes asked permission, hers gave assent. Henry ran his hand down her side, his fingers travelling over the mould of her breasts, the dip of her waist and up again over her hip. Then reluctantly, with a deep breath, he removed himself from her arms. For a moment, Anne didn't understand, her senses rioting and head swimming with new sensations.

"What is it?" she breathed. Henry sat beside her, fighting against his primitive instinct.

"I shall honour your maidenhead until we are married. No less could I do for love." Anne sprung into his arms and kissed him.

"Oh, my love. Love, by daily proof, I swear you shall find me to be to you both loving and kind." Henry kissed her chastely on the lips then rose and bolted out of her chamber, leaving Anne to settle her racing heart and cool her swollen lips. With no distractions that trace she had fought to restrain came forth with all its strength till a single tear streaked Anne's cheek.

.

"I hate you!" Margaret launched a metal goblet at her husband. Another day of wedded bliss in the house of Suffolk, and it was only just the afternoon.

"You said it would all right! You said he would believe you. That's what you said! That's what you promised!" She shouted with a slam of her fist on the heavy dining table, if it hurt she made no sign of it, whether due to her pride or that her sense of pain had been made void through intoxication.

"For the love of God wife!" Charles threw his hands into the air as Margaret picked up a grey pitcher.

"Don't call me _wife_" She snarled and threw the jug. Charles ducked and it smashed through a window of their fine country home. "I don't want to be your wife. I hate you!" Charles moved around towards the table, dodging another missile.

"No, you don't!" For an answer Margaret drained the last of her drink and shot him a look of contempt.

"Yes, I do. If it weren't for you I'd still be the Queen of Portugal. And now what am I?"

"You are drunk" Her loving husband reminded her "And you are foolish" Charles took a step forward so she could not longer throws things at him. "Henry will forgive us. He's just standing on his pride. We just wounded his vanity. Believe me." He added a little more coaxingly.

"Why should I?" She barked and made to hit him, or smash her goblet into his head he couldn't be sure. Charles caught her by the wrist and she went to hit with the other hand which he caught also. A cruel smile crossed her lips, "I don't know if you're really brave, or if you're just a fucking fool!"

"Neither do I." Charles hovered over his wife, his anger slipping into something even more primitive. He pulled her closer and kissed her. For a second Margaret tried to resist but too easily succumb to the moment, she melted against her husband and kissed him back passionately throwing her empty goblet to the floor. She tore at his doublet and breeches as he pushed her onto the table, kissing and caressing each other wildly. Charles gave a strong tug at the strings holding her dress closed and shoved her skirts high. Playfully she slapped him only goading him on. Margaret's legs locked around him, and sprawled across the table, they made love with wild abandon. However, regardless of how good it felt, it was no different to the countless other women Charles had had; the woman beneath him could have been one of the countless servant girls he'd fucked against walls, on tables, and stone floors. Wife? What of it?

.

In the morning, as planned, Anne and her father rode back to court with the King. Anne sat with her hands in Henry's lap, his grip on her not tight but forcefully possessive, opposite her father sat in marked silence, though, the content at the King's inclination worn thicker on his face than an actor's greasepaint. From time to time Henry would kiss her head or stroke her hand with the pad of his thumb, yet Anne remained a statue gazing out at the passing scenery. There was something incredibly off putting having her father witness these small intimacies, no matter how innocent they were.

"You'll be pleased to hear I am considering a rapprochement with France" Henry shifted his direction to Thomas Boleyn. It Boleyn tried to hide his smugness he failed miserably.

"That is excellent news your Majesty. I always found the French more predictable. They are dishonest but can always be trusted to be dishonest." The King gave a faint laugh and squeezed Anne's hand a little.

"Sweetheart, I have arranged for to have you own apartments at court and servants. Does this please you, love?" Anne was silent momentarily.

"Then her Majesty knows of us." It was not the reply either man expected. Though Henry looked a little forlorn, Thomas Boleyn glared at his daughter for not pandering to the King's bequest.

"Am I to resume in service to her?" The men gave no reply, swallowing their words. Anne resumed her vigilance over the countryside; Henry's touch barely registering to her senses. The rest of the journey was quiet, the odd comment passing between men of politics and current affairs. It was only on their arrival at court that they appeared animated at all. Henry fawned over Anne in the sight of all attendants and courtiers, the whispered gossips and prying eyes not needing to be seen nor heard to be noticed. Maids to Anne rushed to her belongings to impress their new mistress and scampered back to Anne's private apartments. The rooms were impressive, as were all the private rooms at court, as though the King made to impress his subjects with trinkets and luxuries before they had a chance to judge his kingship. Anne surveyed the dark oak panelling and intricate Tudor Rose carvings in the grey stone, noticing how alike her chambers were to the Queens albeit smaller. However, there was little time to rest as soon the Queen's ladies were called to attend.

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A new lady-in-waiting with blonde hair held a bowl of fresh warm water out for Queen Katherine who, aside from orders, had remained silent the entire day. The Queen gently washed her hands then bid Anne over with a clean towel. When finished Katherine handed it back to Anne, Anne curtseyed and turned away but only a few feet away from the Queen was called to a stop. Reluctantly Anne paused, turning slowly towards the Queen with her eyes downcast. Gradually, as the women all stood expectantly, Anne raised her head to meet Katherine's gaze. Their eyes locked, she was met with a look of overwhelming pity. At last, Katherine gave a weak smile and sighed, her grey eyes misty with sorrow. In that speechless moment Anne realised just how much the Queen understood – she knew of her fondness for the Duke of Suffolk and him likewise, she knew her pursuit of the King was of Norfolk and Thomas Boleyn's design, she knew Anne could run if she could only be brave enough, she knew she would not. If it had not been for Charles the Queen could almost forgive her, she would only be the pawn of an ambitious father of which there were many but Anne was betraying her heart, which, in the Queen's eyes, was a greater sin than any crime against the monarch. Anne hurriedly looked away with a shudder.

"That will be all," Katherine said quietly. "Leave me now. I am weary," she murmured turning to face the fire. Once alone she pressed her hand against her brow, her fingers rubbing as if they could erase the lines that time and worry had etched there, while her other hand reached for the rosary beads ever present at her waist.

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Some days later a dinner and dance was held to honour the arrival of the French envoys. The Chapel Royal sang, Thomas Tallis conducting, for entertainment. Thomas Boleyn and Norfolk stood on the balcony intently watching Anne and Henry dance. They looked rather contemptuously at the French delegates in their fancy clothes.

"You can always tell the French" Boleyn said sourly.

"Ah yes" Norfolk assented "The ponces, never did anything so clever as giving Wolsey a pension, he's never failed them"

"We must wait and see." Boleyn said soothingly. "When the wheel of fortune has reached its zenith, there is only one way for it to go." The crows turned their attention back to where Anne and Henry were dancing. It would have been obvious to a blind man that the two were in love. Henry couldn't take his eyes off Anne, or she off him. Anne twirled fey like in another cream coloured gauze dress. Meanwhile, at the Royal Table, Queen Katherine sat alone, watching the dancers miserably.

Suddenly, a loud commotion of men shouting erupted outside the hall. A single messenger hurried through the guards till prevented by two crossed halberds. He called to his King and Henry dropped Anne's hand, and the music faltered to a halt.

"Rome has been sacked!" He cried above the guards. Henry ordered he be let passed and the floor cleared of dancers as the messenger came to heel at his master's feet. His news caused the entire court to gasp in horror, even the Queen.

"Rome has been captured and sacked by the German and Spanish mercenaries of the Emperor. They have plundered and befouled its churches, destroyed its relics and holy treasures, to tortured and killed thousands of its priests." People crossed themselves, muttering words like 'monstrous' and 'barbaric', yet Wolsey seemed more concerned for himself. Henry went straight to the core of the thing.

"What of his Holiness?"

"The Pope is prisoner in the Castel Sant'Angelo"

"He is the Emperor's prisoner," "Yes" said the messenger stuttered. Henry turned slowly on his heel and glared at his Queen. The Pope was in the hands of her nephew. In shocked silence, people began to leave the feast table. Henry stormed out of the Hall, Wolsey following close behind, leaving Anne to search for a friendly face in the thinning crowd. Katherine caught her eye for what she thought was contempt but gave her a knowing smile before departing. Anne was mystified and returned to her rooms none the wiser.

Katherine walked through the court with her head held high, though many at court blamed her for the Emperor's brutality; she was still Queen of England. Once back to her private chambers the Queen dismissed her ladies and sent for the Lady Anne. She sat at a table waiting, a sealed letter sat in front of her.

"Mistress Boleyn" She called quietly to Anne who waited patiently by the door. Anne approached her Queen but did not sit as Katherine bade she do. Katherine put her hand on the letter.

"Another letter from the King. For you" She offered it to Anne, "Though perhaps, it would be better I burn it?" Anne looked as though she were to grab if from her but barely moved.

"Did you know the King is trying to divorce me? Of course you do... but with what my nephew has done. I cannot condone the violence but the King will not get his divorce so easily now." Anne took the letter from Katherine curiously.

"Jealous does not become you Lady Anne. Just as a princess took your love you cannot steal a King from his Queen." Katherine rose from her seat and squared up to Anne. "I am Henry's lawful wife and Queen of England, and such I will remain until my dying day. I know my place in this world, I suggest you find yours."

.

Days later more grim news reached the court. The King's infant son, Henry Fitzroy, had died suddenly of the sweating sickness. The King was inconsolable yet the loss of his only son drove his obsession to new heights. The success Wolsey in Paris and the conclave of the cardinal was most imperative.

Anne sat alone in the room, the curtains drawn and only a single candle burning, the whole room in shadow. Earlier that day she had been humiliated reading out the King's, very intimate, letter to her father and uncle. Her face flushed as she recalled it and turned her face away from the light. It made her feel cheap and for that she was ashamed. A light knocked rapped across her door and George quietly slipped into her room.

"Anne" He whispered, closing the door and treading softly over to her bed, "Why are you sitting in the darkness?" She didn't respond. George frowned and sat down beside her, putting his hand over hers. "What's wrong?"

Anne shook her head from side to side, "You don't understand"

"Of course I do!" George said airily, "I'm your brother aren't I?" For a moment his face looked so boyish and sweet Anne thought so to,

"If only you were still as you used to be. I remember I told you everything. All my secrets."

George stared at her curiously, "You can still tell me."

"I can't." George laughed a little.

"Why?"

"You'd share them" Anne said sadly. He blinked as a grave realisation sunk in him, he couldn't deny it. His silence acknowledged. His eyes dropped; he couldn't even meet her gaze.

"Are you frightened?" She didn't answer, the Queen's words whirling around her brain tangled with the memory of Charles' face.

Soon enough Anne was back at court and by now all knew it was she that the King desired and bets, no doubt, were being laid as to how long it would be before she became his mistress. Almost daily she rode with the King and his fellows, or sat playing cards with him alone. With Compton the pair picnicked, subjecting him to being the 'third wheel' while they say cooing over one another. Compton sat alone a good distance away, staring moodily at the couple. A servant handed him his food. "Poor Harry" he muttered.

Henry and Anne ate the flesh of a hart with their fingers. They gazed into each other's eyes, feeding each other the warm, tender morsels, kissing, nibbling at each other. Compton watched on, alone and a little troubled

.

Brandon sat at his desk, quill in hand but was restless, as usual. A servant opened the door to a chamber and announced the visitor to his master. "Sir Thomas Boleyn your Grace".

Brandon looked up, startled; Thomas Boleyn was the last person he would have imagined would make the journey all this way to visit him. He was not overly friendly in his reception of his guest. As they passed opening pleasantries Charles couldn't help but look past Boleyn as though expecting his dark haired daughter to follow close behind.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"May I speak frankly?" Charles nodded and dismissed his groom. He returned to his desk and poured Boleyn a glass of wine.

"You your health my Lord."

"And yours" Charles drank and sat.

"Norfolk has sent me"

Charles frowned, "but Norfolk hates me. I am a new man after all and he is far too grand for me". Boleyn gave an ingratiating shrug. With a seemingly planned slew of words, Boleyn wove Charles into his scheme to bring down the Cardinal with a promise of the Duke's return to court. Boleyn was at the door about to leave when he continued his speech

"And who knows your Grace, perhaps my daughter will speak kindly of you to his Majesty. It is always good to be in the light of a rising sun." He left Charles alone.

Charles collapsed into his chair with a sigh. It would be good to be back at court and away from his wife. It would be good to see Anne again.

"What did you hear?" He asked his wife whose eavesdropping had not gone unnoticed to him.

"Everything."

.

The court was alive with intrigue. Anne knew her father and uncle were ambitious and clever men but never could she have supposed that they would be the ones to bring Lucifer back to paradise. Though her, or any ladies, were permitted attendance she and others crowded behind curtains lining the King's Audience Chamber. Henry sat, staring ferociously at something on the floor. It was Brandon, kneeling humbly before him, his head bowed.

"I heard you crawled here like a dog." Henry sneered. Brandon bristled and raised his head,

"Something like –" Charles was suddenly cut off by the King and forced to lower his eyes.

"Hold your tongue! You were always too useful with it."

"Yes your majesty"

"Have you come to beg my forgiveness?"

"Yes your majesty"

"Well then beg for it"

Anne watched Gentleness bit his tongue, _men and their pride_, she tutted, though her breath stopped in anticipation, Charles stood on the edge of the knife and if said pride took the better, well she dare not think of the consequences.

"With all my heart, with all my soul, with every ounce of my being. My king, my sovereign, my dread lord, I beg you to forgive... your miserable servant. Your humble, worthless, thoughtless servant, who deserved so little, through your bounty and Grace, is given so much. Ungrateful wretch that I am, unworthy of your majesty's love."

Suddenly Henry bolted from his subject to the door leading into the King's Drawing Room. Anne's heart stopped.

"Come here!" A thankful wave of relief took her as Charles jumped to his feet and trailed in after the King.

As Charles passed through the door Henry threw off his jacket and rings. Henry, still looking thunderous, propped his elbow upon a small table ready for for arm wrestling. Brandon blinked, not quite understanding.

"If you can beat me" Henry told him, "You can come back to court." Was that a threat? It was hard to tell. Charles sat opposite the King and propped his own elbow on the table and clasped Henry's hand. Henry hated losing; did he truly want Charles to try and beat him?

" Ready?" Henry continued. His face gave nothing away only his custom manic glint in his eye. With a nod their miniature battle commenced and with a little pressure the King began to push Charles' arm toward the table rather quickly. He could not give up so easily. Charles fought back and, stiffening his sinews, slowly he forced Henry's arm upright and down. The two men's arms shook with the strain and the tension palpable as they locked in stalemate. Charles maintained his defence, still unsure whether win or let the King beat him. His whole future, indeed his life, could rest on this decision yet the right choice remained unclear. Henry's face was a constant of hostility, his eyes afire with fierce determination. He stared at Charles with black ambition and never once did he break the gaze. They were both panting with the exertion. Their muscles straining and faces contorted in the effort. Charles relented and the King pushed his arm down, down closer and closer to the table surface. However, the battle was not over yet. Charles felt a surge of resistance as his pride fought back, and, with a grunt of pain and all his might, drove the King into submission. Henry thumped the table in objection, the diminishing inches between his hand and the table absolute agony for both. Henry's will would not give out but his strength was no match, and Charles slammed his arm down.

The brief smile of victory Charles had afforded himself vanished when Henry burst from the table, angrily freeing his hand and turning his back on Brandon. Terror settled where once sat relief and his stomach churned with anxiety. Fearing the worst he watched as Henry reached the door to his State Bedroom. Suddenly the King stopped and turned back to his friend with a wide grin.

"Welcome back"

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In true Henry VIII style, a great banquet was put on to welcome the Duke of Suffolk back to court. Tables were strewn with a marvellous selection of foods for all tastes. There were all joints of lamb laid out; flavoured with coriander, and marinated in sour milk with a pomegranate sauce for dipping; Chickens cooked with lemon in white wine; juicy roasted pork spiced with nutmeg and pepper; fresh salmon dressed with sorrel, cinnamon, and cloves; and at the Royal Table sat a grandiose roasted peacock redressed in its feathers. And to drink, a choice of several were casks of beer, ale, cider, mead, claret, malmsey, and perry. Thomas Tallis was leading musicians in spritely reels and happy couples twirled while the older courtiers sated their appetite for heady wine.

As expected, the guest of honour sat beside his King and friend, Compton and Anthony flanking them to their right. On the other side of the King sat an empty chair where the Queen should have been but was once again cloistered in her Chapel.

"It's good to see you again your Grace" Anthony raised his glass, a slight edge to the title; he was, after all, only a Knight. Tonight, Charles would ignore the subtext and just enjoy himself, free from the threat of countryside tedium or spending another night in the sole company of his 'wife'. He glanced at each new face, pausing naturally on pretty young things, and felt something of his old self stir.

"Now, don't look at me like that William" Charles smirked. Compton drained his goblet and signalled for a servant to refill it.

"Don't know what you mean" He smiled widely as he raised the drink to his lips.

"How's my sister Charles?" The King piped in, "I hear she is with child?" a subtle hint for Charles to reign in his libido. Suitably chastised, Charles backed down from picking a _desert_ from the banquet. However, when the King's attention was focused elsewhere, William nodded to a particular table. Their eyes met across the banquet table where Anne sat beside her brother. They shared a long glance of regret, for what could never be. Anne remained seated as her brother said something into her ear, then slowly she stood as the music kicked into a dance. Charles' eyes followed her as his body dared not to; truthfully he was so hypnotised by her that his tongue could have been hanging out of his mouth and panting like a dog and he would not have realised.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" William winked. Charles motioned his head to the monarch sat beside him only to realise it was an empty space. Wolsey, timed superbly, had stolen the King away for some political matter, leaving Charles to pursue Perseverance. He glanced up at Anne and saw her incline her head in a playful nod. She turned on her heel and confidently strode toward the centre of the dance floor, pausing to wait for Charles. He took a moment to savour her beauty; he had been starved of it for too long. She wore a forest green silk dress with Grecian sleeves that hung off her shoulders; her hair was loose and trailed down her back, only a single pin in the shape of a small silver unicorn, part of the Suffolk crest, keeping her locks from falling over her face. Charles felt his face flush a little, and then he took a swig of his drink and descended from the Royal Table. Once beside her Charles offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted. Watching her though his peripheral vision, he saw a smile ghost across her face as other partners joined them in the Courant.

"Tell me my Lady have we met before" Anne stifled a giggle and bowed to him in time with the music.

"Welcome back to court your Grace." They danced on, Charles placed a hand on her stomach to guide her as the dance circled and locked eyes with her, if only they were dancing a Volte where he could pull her close. The spell was not broken all throughout the dance. The musicians drew to a close and they ended inches apart, their eyes heavy with mutual lust. Anne's breath quickened, the urge to pull him close or give in to him so powerful it took the staring eyes of her brother to pry her away. Charles' eyes raked across her face for what seemed like an eternity. Without thinking, Charles kept his hand on her, holding it just over his heart as though it pained him but the moment was ruined by the thinning crowd. Anne abruptly broke away from him and pleaded a headache and that she must go at once to bed. She hurried out of the Great Hall without another word, her dress trailing after her as she fled. It took little to prompt Charles to pursue.

He caught her in the gallery leading to the guest apartments. He reached for Anne, once again taking her hand in his, pulling her forcefully close. He held her in his arms, her chest heaving against his, silently for some time, watching each other.

"Anne. For the love of God, never set your heart against me; if I should ever do something to cause you harm, then, strike off my head and let me die."

Anne's face darkened with an expression he could not fathom, the streaked tears on her cheeks causing their way glowing unnaturally in the dim braziers. Charles couldn't help himself. He placed a hand on her cheek, wiping away the moisture. Then her mouth was on his, hard, urgent, as though the lock to all her confined passion had finally broken. He reached up and tangled his fingers in her hair and cupped the back of her skull, pulling her closer. Anne's hands were on him, moving over his shoulders, his back, tracing every muscle in his arms. Somehow he pinned her against a wall and she captured his lips again. Suddenly she pushed him off

"Do you love her?" He could not answer.

"Do you love her?"

"I suppose..." Indignation flashed across her face. She tore herself roughly out of his hold and for a moment Charles though she would strike him. Her face flushed a brilliant crimson, and he restrained the urge to touch her again, to reclaim her.

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other" Her body and voice shaking, she averted her eyes from him and spun about sharply, darting towards the direction to her private apartments. Charles watched her vanish into the night like a ghost.

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**Thanks for reading this chapter! Hopefully the next won't take as long. Again, if there's anything in particular you want to see, feel free to suggest it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Oh my Christ I left you waiting for a long time! Errrmm Sorry? Ah who cares for apologies, onto the next chapter!**

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"My two knaves win" Charles revealed his cards with a smug smile. Henry, Charles and William were gathered in the King's parlour; Anthony had fallen asleep on a settee with a half full goblet clasped precariously in his hand. Henry threw his loosing hand to the centre of the table.

"I still hate cards." The friends laughed as William shuffled the deck; Henry drained his drink and stood from the table. He held his arms aloft, stretching out his back and chest, and then dropped them to his side as though suddenly released from restraints. He paced the room a little as William and Charles played on.

"It would appear his Majesty is distracted. I wonder who it is this time." William said dryly as he raised his bet.

"Oh William you have no idea. I dream of her. You know, that day I almost drowned, a vision of her saved me."

Charles eyed William inquisitively with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Absentmindedly he played with the ribbon Anne had given him which he carried with him always.

"The Lady Anne Boleyn."

Charles froze momentarily, clenching his jaw as he so often did when suddenly angered. Slowly he revealed his cards, his movements carefully measured as he felt himself teeter on the edge of an outburst.

"Our Harry appears to be in love. A knave, Queen and a King. I win." Henry playfully slapped Charles on the back making some comment on his bluffing skills that Charles did not register. Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled the early morning hours and the King bid them to bed, fondly remarking that their dreams should be as sweet as his. William and Charles left Anthony were he laid and quitted the royal chambers. They walked in silence some time until they came to corridor where they parted ways for their rooms and said their goodnights.

Once alone, Charles withdrew the ribbon from its hiding place and buried his face in it. There was still the faintest trace of her on it, though growing stale and weak with time and frequent indulgence. He felt utterly helpless. The walls closing on the trap around Anne and he could do nothing, nothing to stop the King in his relentless pursuit, nothing to save her. If only he had not married Margaret...

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Anne sat in her apartments by her desk running a comb through her hair distractedly; she had changed into a nightgown, her green dancing dress lay in a pile on the floor. Her maids had been dismissed and the fire long since burnt out and the moon now the only light in the room. It cast ghostly shadows over familiar spaces and stirred in Anne an innate fear of the darkest corners of her rooms. Anne sighed; she still felt the press of Charles' lips. There was a knock at her door.

"I wish to be left alone" She said in a monotonous voice realising that in all likelihood the intruder would ignore her regardless. Slowly she turned her head so that the door was barely within her sight. It was too dark to make out their distinct features, though from their shape it was obviously a man. Anne prepared herself for the reprimand of her brother or the abuse of her father.

"Mistress Anne, what are you doing are you doing sat in the dark." William Compton stepped into the streak of moonlight. Anne turned to face him completely, pulling a shawl over her shoulders. She motioned to speak and request he leave but William continued before she had a chance.

"I know many musicians Mistress Anne, many that are skilled at the flute and the organ, or the lute and the virginals, but none can play both at the same time." He slowly reached for the discarded dress, holding it up appreciatively and theatrically he brushed dust from skirt. When he was finished with it he carefully laid it over the back of a chair. "Such fine silk should not be treated so roughly." It was a passing comment but broke the near sense of sinister his opening line had delivered. "This shall end badly, for you that is."

"Is that a threat Sir William?" Anne mustered some nerve though she was inclined to agree with him.

"Not at all." With that he skulked back out into the dark corridors.

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Within a week Sir William was dead. Snatched away by the sweat that had killed the King's infant son not so long ago. A chest had arrived at court that he had bequeathed to the King but was almost immediately returned to his widow, though she would find little use for it as only days later she followed her husband in to the earth. Of course, the whole incident had made Henry increasingly paranoid about illness, subjecting those nearest and dearest to a tally of his supply of medicines. A giant cabinet stocked with countless glass vials, herbs, spices, pills, lotions, ointments, and plants of all kinds – Henry's own private apothecary. The King, for all his power, for all his privileges, was terribly afraid of illness, his fear only exacerbated by the death of his brother Arthur years earlier.

"These are called 'Pills of Rhazes', after the Turk who invented them, they're said to be good against the sweating sickness." He informed his friends as he took out a small china jar and handed each a pill. Anthony eagerly swallowed his while Charles sniffed it curiously; bitter, dry herbs, no different from the spices his cook used and would do nothing beneficial but sweeten the breath.

"But this infusion is even better" the King waved three crystal goblets in front of his friends before setting them on the table. From the cabinet he took a vial and shook it.

"A mixture of marigold, _manus Christi - _a very efficacious herb - sorrel, meadow plant, linseed vinegar, ivory scrapings, all mixed with sugar." He poured the vile coloured liquid into the glasses and handed the first to Anthony, who looked at the concoction uneasily. However, as before, Anthony was the more willing of he and Charles to sample the King's remedies and took the glass.

"Are you sure?" Charles added, watching as Anthony's arm stopped dead before the glass could touch his lips. "Someone told me that taking infusions was the worst thing."

"Trust me" The King gestured to Anthony. He closed his eyes and swallowed the liquid in a single gulp and promptly gagged. "It will make you feel sick, but its better the sickness what prevents." Charles chuckled as Anthony turned green but Henry turned on him quickly with a severe look in his eye. In all honesty, Charles had to clench his jaw to prevent a snigger escaping but it did the job of making the King think he had delivered some warning. However, even the great threat of the sweat could not dissuade Henry from pursuing Anne.

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Though the threat of the Sweating Sickness held fast at the back of King Henry's mind, he found absorbing distractions in Anne's company. The Bishop of Bayenne, Jean de Bellay, the new French ambassador was to visit and Henry planned to pay him all kindnesses to please his sweetheart. To welcome the arrival of the new ambassador, Henry arranged for there to be a picnic in the parklands surrounding the palace. Anne and George were to arrive later once the initial political patter and delegate pleasantries were done with. Slowly they rode through the parkland surrounding the palace while the King entertained his guest. It was a fine day, the sky clear and bright though there was a slight autumn chill, nothing should spoil such a day yet Anne felt weary. The role of Family Pawn was growing ever thin and no one seemed to notice, if they did they certainly didn't care.

"Must I do this George?" She asked, her question sounding a little whinier than she had intended.

"It would reflect badly on our family if you did not."

"I was a lady-in-waiting to the Queen of France and a friend to Francois! I doubt a single ambassador will make much difference to France's opinion of us!" She scoffed, cutting her brother off sharply.

George brought his horse to an abrupt stop just ahead of Anne, blocking her path.

"Paint on your smile if you must!" He barked, a glimmer of their father showing through what had once been a sweet boy. He kicked his horse back to the path and led on, Anne reluctantly following behind. She looked down at the greyhound led by an attendant that she was to present to the new ambassador. Another sigh came; the dog had been the strongest of the litter born by Anne's own pet, Minette, who was now unfortunately dead. Anne had fought with her father that she keep the dog but no, _mustn't disobey Papa_.

They neared the picnic where the King and Bellay were already engrossed in conversation, the war against the Emperor being the dominant topic. From a distance Anne looked over the new man; he was a middle-aged man and fussily dressed, most obviously French. Henry glanced around,

"Ah!", he exclaimed upon seeing the small group of figures approaching. Henry made no effort at disguising his joy at seeing her, only just managing not to run as he hurried forward to greet her. George helped his sister down, managing to pass a last warning look to her before she was stuck to the King's side.

Henry took her arm and guided her over to the ambassador. "Your Highness, allow me to..." However, Bellay anticipated him.

"Is this not mademoiselle Anne? _Enchante." _Bellay kissed the back of her hand, "His eminence, Cardinal Wolsey, has told me all about you but he did not tell me how beautiful you are! For a Frenchman that is almost a crime!" Anne laughed a little, feigning polite amusement.

"But Frenchmen tell every woman she is beautiful. Is that not a crime too?" Anne replied in fluent French. Both Henry and Bellay laughed. Anne waved to her brother to approach. "I have a gift for you" she told the ambassador.

The picnic passed with little event save for an intruder shouting "go back to your wife", but he was quickly dispatched by the guards and made no impression on the mood. By the time the party returned to the palace darkness was falling. The horses strode gently down the path as their riders engaged in leisurely conversation. Anne rode easy, her hands resting lightly on the reigns and from time to time Henry half-turned to look and smile at her, radiant with happiness.

"Madame," Bellay addressed Anne when the King's attention was elsewhere, "You are a rose of Christendom. You should have stayed in France. "We would appreciate a creature as fine as you. King Francis would _appreciate _you." Anne laughed aloud and readied a reply but she was silenced by the sound of rioting at the palace gates and a sharp, acidic smell invaded her senses. Vinegar.

The King had gone very pale. A panic stricken mob struggled with the palace guards as they begged for aid. Through them came the palace chamberlain who hurried towards Henry. The King jumped from his horse and bounded into the throng of panic and the chamberlain confirmed his worst fears.

"There had been an outbreak of sweating sickness in the city. 300 deaths this day alone." The King, sounding almost as panicked as the mob, ordered for his physician, Doctor Linacre, and inquired after his wife. He almost hurried off without even saying goodbye or showing any concern for Anne. Henry disappeared in the sea of attendants and guards that bore him away into the palace. Behind her, Bellay and his attendants rattled away in rapid, frightened French. Anne did not respond, she made an attempt to scoff at their paranoia but she could not bring herself to be such a hypocrite for in the back of her mind a terror crept in.

By the time George had escorted his sister to her room the palace was manic with fleeing noblemen. Servants swept from room to room carrying smoking braziers, wafting the fumes of the burning herbs over everything to destroy the bad humours that brought pestilence and disease. Anything to keep the sweat at bay. The smoke was thick and like an overpowering perfume caught in the back of Anne's throat, a faint nausea settling on her until she became accustomed to the smell. She wafted a fan in front of her face for fresher air but it made little difference. In the dull hum of the palace Anne heard a small, sombre note penetrate the walls from the world outside. Through the window and across the river Anne watched a small cart pulled by an old horse trundled slowly along the banks. Every few paces a door would open, a small square of light being cast out, and the living brought out their dead loved ones wrapped in sheets, and piled them on the other bodies already in the cart. There was no time for ceremony, only a hasty crossing of breasts, and a few stifled sobs in the darkness. The cart moved on, the bell tolled, the cart rumbled on. Under her breath Anne muttered a prayer for the lost and for herself, _God prevent this sickness from me, _as London was lit by an orange hue and the sense of menace, _And God save Charles, of all things save him_. Unexpected behind her the chamber door opened and in thumped the heavy steps of a man.

"Anne." Her heart surged in her breast. "I want you to leave court." He stood little more than an inch from her, his built masculine form dwarfing hers.

"And if I do not?" Every nerve in Anne's body tightened with anticipation as he leaned a little closer, she could feel his heated breath trip past her ear. A delightful shiver ran up her back as he gently took her arms yet with a firm grip.

"Go to bed with me." Anne felt the tug as he tried to turn her to face him but she stood firm.

"What about your wife?"

"This could be our last chance" he began to pull her into an embrace

"You're married." Anne shrugged off his hold and broke away from him. Charles balled his fists at his side, his nails digging into his palms, and clenched his jaw a little.

"Would it make a difference if I had a crown?"

Anne gulped; she had not been expecting that. Charles took three steps away from her towards a table. On it lay a bouquet of a dozen or so striking and exotic flowers bound by a thin strip of gold cloth and tied to that was a jewel encrusted ring. He picked the ring up and pondered it. Suddenly he yanked at the ring, tearing the cloth.

"Is this your price?" Anne did not answer, she could not even bare to look at him for it broke her heart. He asked again more sternly than before and still Anne was silent. Charles threw the ring the floor with such force that the firmly set stone broke from the metal. Anne finally snapped.

"Yes! Yes, I am a cheap Boleyn whore! For all my breeding, for all my education I am just a whore, a goddamn royal whore." Anne bit back a sob as her heart raced and breath became laboured under her restraint. There was a familiar sting at the corner of her eyes and Anne whipped around to face the window least he should see, though the occasional sniff did much to betray her.

"If we were free" She muttered a little. There was a gentle pad as Charles drew near, gently he took her side and wrapped her in his arms. Slowly Anne looked up at him and they kissed. Softly at first but, whether from the danger outside or the sudden flurry of emotion, the urgency grew. She coiled her arms around his neck and kissed him back; her mouth opened willingly, drawing his tongue inside as they embraced. An instant rush of warmth flooded her senses as Charles' tongue swirled tenderly around her own. Reluctantly she withdrew her arms from the embrace, ignoring the voice of virtue telling her to stop, and put her hands to his doublet working the fiddly buttons, many of which she tore impatiently from the fabric, her efforts made harder by Charles' insistent and unrelenting want to kiss her lips, her face, her neck, her. His hands began playing with laces that held her bodice closed but Anne stopped him only as it was loose, she pressed a hand to his face and held it there.

"Charles," She sighed, he tried to kiss her again, "Charles, this can only be for tonight." The disappointment in his eyes was undeniable, "You knew that before you came here." His grip softened and the ardour died a little; that had not been Anne's intention. "But I would rather spend a night in your arms than be Queen of England." Charles re-approached his love, delicately lifting away hair from her neck then his mouth pressing just at the nape. She exhaled slowly as his arms came around her, crossing over her back, pulling her to him, and bent to kiss her. As the kiss grew more passionate her hands began to press through the layers of his clothing, growing more impatient for him. A little shyly Anne withdrew from the kiss but his hands remained on her, the laced bodice falling from her body like the first petal of the opening flower.

"I do not want _him_ to be my first."

"First?" Charles smiled in response.

Anne bit her bottom lip a little, "I am not such a whore after all." She smiled back at him and pushed off his jerkin then untied the bow holding his white undershirt closed. Freely she placed her hands on his chest, his strong, young and well muscled chest. She stared, her mouth dry, feasting her eyes on him while Charles dropped his hands to her waist and the drawstring of her skirt. Dressed only in stays and petticoats Anne led her lover to her bed. She stopped at the edge and turned around so that he could undo the lacing of the stay and once done her underskirt fell away on its own. He traced her curves and kissed her again, slowly lifting her and placing her on the bed. Charles removed his breeches; the lovers beheld the others body as if it were the bountiful oasis in the desert dunes. He slowly advanced on her, his hands drifting over her, exploring her body like no other man.

"Please," Anne mewed, her voice trembling. Gently he raised himself on top of her, aligning their bodies and with a palpable effort held himself there. Charles patted kisses over her face and neck and Anne instinctively pressed herself to him. She held her breath and bit her lip. There was a sting and shifting as she discovered this new sensation. There was some discomfort but was quickly pushed aside as the pain gave way to truest pleasure as Charles moved in earnest. This night she would never forget; his taste, his smell, the feel of him this first time. With only a few hours to spend together they wasted not a moment; when not making love they lay side by side, from time to time trembling with little aftershocks, or absentmindedly tracing their fingers along the curves and dips of their bodies, or simply holding each other before taking to each other's arms again.

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In the early hours of the morning, before the sun graced the sky, Anne and Charles woke together. However the passion which had caught them was broken and a sullen, sombre realisation sat in its place. Charles wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her as close as possible without crushing her. They kissed, sweet and innocently.

"You are so beautiful." Charles whispered as he pulled back the hair from her face and caressed her jaw. They huddled close against the morning chill, the only sound in the room their breathing. Outside a bird merrily chirped to itself. Reluctantly Anne sat up and got out of bed, faintly on the horizon there was pinkness and no longer could the morning be denied.

"You should go." Not looking at him Anne picked up her skirts and stay and half dressed herself, behind she heard the rustling of fabric as Charles did the same.

"I'll go to Hever, if there are any horses left in this place." Anne knelt down and picked up Charles' discarded doublet. Like a loving wife she held it up so Charles could slip his arms in and then devotedly fastened the same buttons which she had previously fought with. Once finished she rested her hands on his collar.

"Now go," She softly ordered. Charles stalled, rubbing her arms helplessly, the reluctance was mutual. There was something that needed to be said but neither could find the words, or they didn't want to say them. Either way Charles slowly walked out of Anne's rooms leaving her alone with the songbird taunting her.

Anne collapsed on the bed. It still smelt of him. It smelt of them both and of the heady aroma of sex, almost overpowering the stench from the herbs of purification. Warmth lingered on his side of the bed. She breathed in deeply and held the bed clothes close, wrapping herself in a cocoon of blanket but it was undeniable that the same bed she had slept in many times now felt larger and emptier than before. Though she felt the bitter hand of loneliness reaching out to her, Anne took some solace in the ache between her legs – it was proof that last night had happened, not a dream, and that Charles' name would be etched into her mind, soul and now body for eternity. Then a sudden it hit her. She sat bolt upright and hurriedly looked over her room. At the foot of her bed lay the evidence, a ruined and stained underskirt trapped between the mattress and blankets. But how to dispose of it? There was no fire to burn it and what if she summoned a maid to light one and they saw it? Never mind that burning something so big might set the palace on fire. Out the window? No, it would be too obvious where it had come from. Randomly her mind conjured something a lady had once said while Anne was in service to the Duchess of Savoy, that in some places they would hang the bloodied wedding night sheets out the window as proof of consummation and the bride's virtue. Anne sniggered at her own morbid curiosity; _thank God they don't practice that in England. _She could try to take it to the palace washers herself but if she were to be seen, whether by servant or noble, there would be rumours in no time at all quickly followed by the wrath of her father, let alone the King's. Anne cursed under her breath before pulling the garment free. Curious she wandered into the next room. Scatter about lay books, a lute, some incomplete embroidery and a pair of large and most definitely sharp sewing scissors.

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Although the Anne's excuse of cutting herself while sewing, regardless that it had been the middle of the night and the random buttons strewn about the floor, even sounded farfetched in her own ears her maids knew better than to question it. A plain girl scuttled the underskirt away with the rest of the dirty linen to the palace washers and Anne at last felt a little weight taken from her shoulders. She sat in front of her mirror with a maid fawning over her hair. Dreamily, and a little bored, Anne watched her reflection, her mind wandering and lingering over her night with Charles. Then, from behind, the girl who handled Anne's dresses and dirty linen made a sudden noise of distress. Anne turned in time to see the girl cradle her forehead and whimper a little louder.

"Child, what is it?"

"Nothing Madame" She replied, her hand resting on her stomach and not at all convinced by her own lie. "I just felt a little dizzy." Anne held out her arms in an attempt to calm the girl but her nerves had already got the better of her.

"That's it. I've caught the sweat"

"No" Anne got up from her place and took her by the hands hoping it would reassure her. The girl complained of pains, not an odd symptom for any ailment, and sunk to knees pulling Anne down with her. Out the corner of her eye Anne saw the maid who had previously waited on her back away from the pair of women on the floor. The girl's breathing became laboured though that was more due to her panic than illness. The poor creature was terrified so Anne drew her into a motherly embrace and the girl settled. However, the peace did not last. She began to sob, her sobs turned to cries and as she doubled over in pain the cries gave way to a scream.

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In no time at all the Boleyn's were bundled in to a carriage and making for Hever. Even when Anne first laid eyes on it she felt her gut twist with a sudden bout of panic; two black horses pulling a black carriage, not ominous at all.

There was a pregnant silence inside the carriage as the horseman spurred the animals on, the wheels rumbling harshly against the ground.

"How do you feel?" Thomas Boleyn asked his daughter. Anne looked increasingly wan and pale.

"I feel fine papa" The effect of the ride not helping her already churning stomach. Her father frowned. Boleyn nervously twiddled his thumbs and inched away from his daughter.

"You're sure"

"What are you saying?" He didn't answer, his eyes looked a little bloodshot yet Anne couldn't cipher whether he was worried for his daughter or for the potential loss of his influence. "Because of my maid I am certain to be contaminated?" Boleyn denied it with an unconvincing heartfelt attempt. Anne looked away, focusing her attention to anything outside the carriage and trying not to panic. She did feel unwell but surely that was normal for a coach ride? Without permission her mind raced to the list Henry had sent her, only a fool would think sending a loved one a detailed list of symptoms would help hypochondria.

It began with a headache and a feeling of weakness or heaviness in the limbs, or with pains in the heart, or stomach pains, a shivering, maybe a rash. Then the fever came with oppressive heat and unquenchable thirst. Always ending in a sudden outbreak of sweating, a foul, stinking sweat. Within a few hours most were dead. A man could be "merry at dinner and dead by supper"

The thought crept into her mind, '_do I have the sweat?'. _The more she thought about it the more certain she became and the faster her pulse became. It drummed in her ears almost drowning out the thud of hooves. Her breath started to come in short gasps.

"What is it?" Boleyn demanded; his own panic rising.

"I can't breathe" she gasped. Anne tugged at her bodice trying to loosen some space for breath. "I can't breathe, stop the coach." Before the carriage had pulled to a stop Anne had already opened the door and tumbled out onto unsteady legs. Anne walked on, dragging in air against her chest that felt as though it were caught in a vice. The carriage rolled slowly on keeping pace with the terrified girl. Behind her father called but she paid little attention, she just kept walking, her gaze fixed ahead of her. Anne didn't know what she felt more of, fear that she was going to die or regret for all the things she should miss. Tears rolled down her cheeks, cold and salty tears.

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**Not overly satisfied with it (when don't I say that?) but I can't leave you without for any longer. Any complaints, criticisms, suggests you know what to do. And I haven't abandoned this, Uni has a nack of killing an creativity I have. **


	8. Chapter 8

If the patient could survive the first day and night of sickness, he had a chance of survival. If not, well at least the suffering was not long.

Upstairs in a private bedroom of Hever Castle it was unnaturally quiet. A letter from the King lay discarded on a desk, buried under a mess of basins, stained rags and doctors implements; 'eat and drink sparingly, burn coal braziers, wash the walls and floors with vinegar' the list went on. However, such detailed instructions were of no use now, Anne Boleyn already lay in her bed, her body overcome with such a sickness that she did not have even the strength to cry out in pain, though she did not have the inclination to do so even if she could.

Though the night was not warm, and no fire burned in the room, sweat beaded on her brow. A thin film of sweat had also formed on her top lip. Anne lay, wracked with shudders, almost unconscious. Her body was drenched in sweat. Doctor Linacre bent over her; a tourniquet was tied tightly around her upper left arm, and cut into a vein. While he drained her arm Anne studied the man's face; he was tall, though slightly stooped, with a heavily lined face and a kindly expression but noticeably anxious. The blood pooled into a copper dish and when sufficient had been gathered Doctor Linacre withdrew and Anne's maid dressed the wound with thick gauze. Doctor Linacre studied his fresh sample for some time, noting the colour and tipping the dish ever so slightly to examine its fluidity. Without a word he left, the hopelessness of her situation written on his face. The door closed softly behind him yet in the quiet Anne could just make out his words to her brother and father,

"In my opinion, there is no hope. The vital signs of life are weak and worsening. The priest should attend her now, in extremeness. I'm very sorry."

There was an audible sob, the voice recognisable as George, then silenced reigned once more. Anne slipped into an uneasy and dreamless sleep, when she awoke an old man hovered over her, rosary in hand, muttering her last rites. When the old man had finished Anne beckoned over her maid and demand that they wash her, she could not stand lying in a pool of sweat even if she was dying. It took all Anne's effort to remain conscious while the girl reluctantly swabbed Anne's body with a wet rag but when the girl withdrew and Anne had on a clean nightgown she fell into a deep and dark sleep.

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Anne was running through the maze, behind she could hear the sound of the royal hounds bounding after her. Her heart raced in her chest to the point she thought it would stop when the skies tore open with a roar of thunder and poured rain down on her. She turned a corner to find a dead end but when she turned to go back the maze suddenly grew up around her until the four walls of leaves loomed high above her. As quickly as they had risen, the walls fell back revealing a path and Anne was suddenly watching herself from afar. The terrified girl ventured further until she reached the centre of the maze where a ghastly sight waited for her.

Set firmly in the ground stood a crucifix and tied to it, limp and lifeless, was Charles, his stomach split open and innards hanging freely from his belly. Anne collapsed to her knees at its base with wail that shook her entire body. She reached up and could just touch his foot, his blood dripping slowly on to her hand, then with a simultaneously sob and crash of thunder the maze began to flood. The waters rose higher and higher until Anne was drowning in a vast black ocean, the weight of the water crashing down her. As her lungs burned for air she realised Charles had disappeared, she was alone in this horribly silent world. Then an alien noise came, like a moan, and in the distance a shape, large and yellowish, drew closer. It was huge, a giant golden whale swimming directly towards Anne at a tremendous speed. Then, like the story of Jonah, the whale opened its castle wide mouth and swallowed Anne whole.

When Anne opened her eyes she was lying on the Queen's bed. Her majesties chambers were empty, the curtains and shutters still closed so only a sliver of light broke into the rooms, and eerily quiet. Anne stood from the bed and walked out to the Drawing Room, her footsteps echoing loudly down the empty halls, and heard something. Quiet at first then louder and louder until it was inside her head. The cry of a baby tore through her brain when the ground started to shake, the wood flooring beneath her feet gave a terrifying creak and several long thorny arms shot up from the ground. They quickly seized Anne by her wrists and ankles, the thorns pressing painfully in to her flesh and drawing blood, while another arm snaked up her leg, past her belly, scratching over her breast and slowly wrapped itself around her neck. Tighter and tighter it gripped, Anne couldn't breathe, she couldn't think and all the while the infant's screams rung harshly in her ears. But there was something, the faint sense of a fight taking in place, someone come for her. She could not see, her hold on consciousness slipping with each breath denied. One of the veins seizing her wrist retreated but it was too late and Anne's world slipped into black.

.

Anne slowly opened her eyes and she was back in her room at Hever. She lay absolutely still, waiting for the next onslaught of her nightmare but nothing came. Her body felt heavy and her strength was all but gone yet something in her felt recovered. Sluggishly her eyes looked down the line of her nose to look at her body; she had been laid out for death, if she had the strength she would have laughed. Mustering what little life she had Anne raised her ailing voice, "Water" the sound that came out was not Anne, it was too raspy and dry as though it were of someone who had just been let down from a noose. She tried again a little louder, "Water!", it was painful but her effort roused her weeping maid. The young attending girl rushed to her mistress clasping her hand and then quickly retrieved water from a table. Anne tried to hold herself up but her arms were too weak and she lay stranded like a babe. With a nod the maid propped Anne up against many pillows to support her back then ladled the water into her mouth with all care and attention of a dutiful mother. Her thirst sated Anne sank back against the pillows and her maid rushed out of the room.

"Master! Come, come and see her!"

The momentarily deathly silence in the corridors of Hever Castle was finally broken by the rumble of running feet. "Papa, come quickly" George shouted to his father, fearing the worst for his little sister, and burst into Anne's room. She looked thin and wan, her eyes shadowed and looking paler than ever but she was indeed alive. With a faint smile Anne acknowledged her brother and was shortly joined by their father. Thomas Boleyn fell to his knees at his daughter's bedside.

"Oh, sweet Lord" he panted between kisses to her hand. "You know what you've done child? You've risen from the dead" He was almost laughing for joy and for a single serene moment Anne thought her father was truly glad his daughter had survived. "Now you can see the king again," he exclaimed happily "it can be just as before," Anne stared at him in momentary disbelief, and then quickly dropped her gaze, how could she expect any more from her father. Boleyn stroked the side of his daughter's face the way one does when appreciating fine cloth. With a weary sigh Anne sank into the pillows and closed her eyes. In truth it was not the thought of seeing the King again that distressed her, in fact in light of situations he was a tolerable substitute for a certain Duke, but that she had sunk so low in her father's value that in his eyes her salvation was little more than another chance at riches. Where had the man that played games with his children on summer nights, or who had chastised his brother-in-law, Phillip Calthorpe, for scaring Anne and George with a ghost story, gone?

Her father got to his feet, still looking incredibly proud of himself, and clapped his hands together appraisingly. "Just like before" he repeated then left. George still lay at the bottom of his sister's bed, he had said nothing, only watched and Anne's reluctance was not unknown to him as it was his father. He gently patted his sister's leg.

"I'll wager he's off to write to His Majesty now."

Anne did not move.

"There are worse things in this world than to be a King's Mistress. And besides, it would not be like Mary and Francois, Henry wants you to be his Official Mistress."

He struggled for something to say; as much as he wanted to comfort his little sister he was caught in the awful dilemma that though he loved her as much as any brother could and wanted to protect her, he could not say that the position and power her sacrifice gave the family was unwanted.

"At least the King is young and, some think, handsome.."

Anne rolled her head to the side and with a sigh interrupted George,

"That's not the point."

"Point of what?"

There was silence. The words ran from Anne as she tried to form the vaguest appearance of logic about an idea that was so concrete in her head.

"Love? For us there is no such privilege. Besides, you might grow to like the King and if not, one day he will give you children and you can love them," George rose from the bed and kissed his sister firmly on her forehead. "Rest now," and once again Anne was alone. Utterly alone and it was bliss. The thoughts that moments ago that were scuttling though her mind gradually slowed and all resistance fell as Anne succumbed to another sleep, this time without the nightmares.

.

Some hours later the sound of the maids bustling about her room roused Anne from her slumber. On the desk where torture-like medical instruments had rested not long ago were piles of fresh laundry – sheets and bedding to replace the current ones that stank of sweat. Though her limbs still felt heavy, using her ever building stores of new energy Anne lifted herself up using the bed post as a crutch. A maid watched and offered to help but Anne was determined to stand on her own feet by her own will. It is a strange thing to suddenly stand after weeks of being bedbound; legs which have lain redundant and forgotten how to support a weight suddenly recall all ability to balance and bear the body about, though shaky at first and the odd cramp as muscles reluctantly are forced by fresh blood to move. Step after tentative step Anne regained her freedom and her body felt more alive with the blessed relief of activity.

"Girl, have a bath drawn for me and, for the love of God, have someone change those sheets" Anne gave a tittering laugh and the maid set to work. Two girls scuttled into her room and remade the bed while Anne stood by her desk watching with a somewhat misplaced interest. A little devious smile graced Anne's face and soon enough, as her bath water was drawn, Anne felt something of her old self return with a ferocious swoop of determination.

There was no denying the pleasure that washed over her as she sank into the rose-petalled waters of her first bath in too long a time. It was more than refreshing; it was pure and utter Heaven. With a wonderful sensation of overindulgent satisfaction Anne slowly, almost teasingly, sank lower and lower into the bath until finally her whole body was submerged. She held herself there as long as her breath would permit with her eyes scrunched closed, then in the dark a memory of _that_ dream came and Anne shot to the surface, gulping down air and sending water everywhere. She was gripped by an unnecessary fear but there is was; the panic in her chest that made her heart beat faster than a savage's war drum. Yet, there was no whale; there was nothing to harm her.

"Girl, get me some wine" She ordered, her voice noticeably shaky. Alone she sat waiting for her maid in silence, vaguely she tried to draw reason from her dream but she was neither philosopher nor astrologer and when the girl returned, with each mouthful of the tangy beverage her nerves abated and her heart rested. Wrapped in the waters and the drugging affect of her drink she seemed to forget all that she had feared moments ago.

"A mirror" She bid, trading her wine for a piece of glass. Anne held the cold mirror in her hands and watched as the steam crawled over her reflection.

"Now leave me" Her maids hurried out. Anne wiped away a streak from her reflection that she might look herself in the eye.

There were worse things in this world than to be a royal mistress and, in all honesty, a future with Charles was impossible. Charles was married to Henry's sister, even if Henry could forgive his marrying Margaret without permission, if Charles and Anne admitted their affair or were caught together, that would be a mark against the King and an insufferable blow to Henry's pride. Charles would not be spared the axe this time, or worse, he would be given that long and unspeakable death of a traitor.

True, Anne did not _love _the King but she was fond of him and, who knows, maybe in time, once her heart had time enough to grieve, she may learn to love him. If not she would just have to pretend, other ladies would deny their self a life and lock themselves in a nunnery but Anne could not bear that. To be imprisoned until use and old age take them. No life, no joy, no memory. She loved Charles but they could not be, it was too impossible and she would not risk him.

Things would be so much simpler if society did not hold such double standards when it came to extramarital affairs. For a man, most certainly the King, it is almost expected and should they get caught there is little to no reprimand to be paid, hell they may even boast their number of conquests. However, should a woman be caught she was damned, an unmarried girl lost all value and a wife became a disgrace who could be burned, if her husband was that possessive, or cast out with no-one to keep her and no-one willing to risk sullying their reputation by association. For all the corruption, the vice and debauchery, the orgies of Caligula's Rome certainly made things simpler.

Anne emptied her glass with a huff of disappointment. She had two roads to choose from and both ended in heartache.

She was resolved; she would not risk Charles' life and though she may not love the King, nor come to marry him, she could use him. She could become greater than any of her fellows, rising higher in rank and esteem than any royal. She could become more loved not only in the eyes of the King but of his people. With time, and her fabled perseverance, she would be made immortal in the memory of this country. And who knows, maybe she could grow to like Henry after all.

.

The Sweat retreated across England and soon it was deemed safe enough for Lords and Ladies to return to court and no other was more relieved than the King. He looked up at the tower which had been his home these past few weeks and smiled. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and began the long ride back to London. His party drove their horses hard across the Welsh lowlands and chased the Sun over the horizon into Shropshire. It would take a further six days until they arrived in London but nothing would come in the way of the libertine Monarch and seeing his Lady. Elsewhere up and down the country others were making such journeys, though at a more leisurely pace.

The Duke of Suffolk's household was buzzing with activity as the final preparations were made for the Duke's return to court. Margaret, however, was less than enthusiastic.

Even though she was glad for the sickness to be gone, she maintained her position that she would never set foot in any of her brother's palaces until he gave up the Boleyn harlot. That her husband was more than eager to return did little to improve her temper, typical of her Tudor blood, and the irritableness given by her condition made matters no better. The not so happily married couple sat in their drawing room, Margaret entertaining herself with a game of cards and Charles lounged by the fire swirling a glass of wine in his hand. They did not speak to each other yet there was, for Charles, that unbearable staleness that a room gets when one in the party disapproves of another and openly wears it on their face but does not admit it. With a great effort he prised himself from his place and advanced on the window.

"God I loathe the landscape" he moaned before draining his glass completely. "Life in the country chokes you to death. Very, _very, _slowly."

"You miss life at court sir?" Margaret asked, barely paying much notice to her restless husband.

"I miss the people."

Margaret flipped another card over, placing it back down on the table with an audible _twack_; the Queen of Spades, the Black Queen.

"All of them? Or is there one in particular?" She eased herself around to stare down her husband.

"My lady Suffolk, you should learn not to ask that sort of question if you wish for this to be a happy marriage."

"Happy? " Margaret turned back to her game, "I had forgotten that word."

Scenes as such were not uncommon in the Duke's household. The pair had little tolerance for each other, something they had never noticed when Charles had spread his time between court and country, now their company was forced upon one another with no comfort of being able to walk out the door. Meaning their days together passed as pleasantly and swiftly as the hundred years war.

When the call from his servants finally came that the horses were ready, cases and bags packed and loaded, and that the Duke may travel to London at his pleasure, Charles could hardly hide his relief. The very next morning he left his country estate, his wife still in her bed, without taking breakfast.

Each mile put between the countryside and the court lifted the oppressive tedium that had clung to everyday and was replaced with a wonderful sense of release and freedom. Charles felt his old self return with a flurry of delightful anticipation and in a rather roguish notion, opened his carriage door and climbed up to sit beside the driver. He gave a shout making the horses ran just a little bit faster and the fresh air hit him. There was the sound of church bells on the wind replacing the doleful, weary ringing of the dead cart bells with joyful pealing, celebrating the abating plague and the triumph of the survival. Charles breathed in deep and almost laughed. It was like the sweat had never come at all.

Life returned to court and for those the sweat had spared they were thankful but normality could not spring back so simply.

Many gathered in the palace chapel and Charles sat in the middle of the sombre scene surrounded by a sea of mourners. There was no priest rambling on of God's omnipotence, his eternal plan or the peace of the hereafter, just a simple requiem for the dead sung by Tallis' choir resonated through the chapel accompanied by a chorus of crying widows.

Beside him lay an empty seat where William should have sat, his spurs rested in his place and behind, in his wife's seat, sat another empty pillow. The empty places dotted the congregation, a spur in place of a departed master or a glove or handkerchief for the mistress and a tiny pair of shoes for any family member who died with them. Friends, husbands and wives all lost. The choir sang on. Even the King, whose public emotions were usually limited to anger or joviality, had given into the sorrow. Henry sat with his Queen, weeping quietly with tear streaked cheeks and she, somewhere between devoted wife and mother, held his hand. A lump formed in Charles throat and he clenched his jaw to fight back the emotion. He scanned the bowed heads for survivors. Three places sat vacant, Thomas, George and Anne Boleyn. A pang of regret struck him and he gave a disappointed sigh; it was common knowledge that the Boleyn's had survived for the day the King returned to court all his questions where of the Lady Anne Boleyn. How far recovered was she? When would she return to court?

_Why of all women must he want Anne? _But Charles knew exactly whey. Anne did not pander to title or ceremony, she did not submit to a single gift or compliment, she was a challenge and most of all, because once you gained her admiration it was true unlike the all too common sycophants who would declare love for any man if it meant they should benefit. Reasons aside though, _why her_?

.

Once the service was ended and all protocol had been concluded Henry, impatient for a groomsman, nearly bound to the palace stables to collect his own horse.

He quickly rode out, the rhythm of the horses hooves sounding the words _Anne Boleyn _in the King's ears. Coming out of a wooded grove he pulled his horse to a stop and was struck dumb by the sight before him, like a starving man suddenly faced with a feast of food. Anne Boleyn lounged in the shade with her maid and at the noise of the horse got to her feet. The pair stared at each other for a long time, just taking the other in for it was all too dream like. Henry threw himself off his horse as Anne slowly walked towards him. She held out her palms flat as a sign of submission but as they drew close whatever ceremony had been intended was defeated by the need for each other. Henry broke into a run and swept her into his arms with a hard, passionate and truly thankful kiss. In that kiss was a prayer, a tribute to God for letting love survive a plague. Henry engorged the sense of feeling Anne, crushing their bodies and lips together, pawing her hair and holding her with a grip that meant 'I will never let you go'.

Exhilarated by love, relief, desire, happiness and all things good on this earth, Henry swung her round and smiled. He rained kisses on her, murmuring her name and then settled into her arms.

"Thank you, thank you God." Unable to think of anything else to say expect her sacred name.

'_Anne'_

_._

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**Wow. Sorry about the wait, was so torn over what to do for this chapter. Thank you for hanging on, thank you for your patience and thank you for the reviews and ever increasing view count. **

**I really hope you enjoy this chapter, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Firstly, sorry about the long wait. University, family and moving house does a lot for interrupting the whole writing process. Secondly, thank you sooo much for the reviews you've written, I appreciate them a lot. Now back to the story!**

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Weeks hurried by, they turned to months and those same months made a year. A whole year had almost past yet life at court remained the ritual it would always be; Dinners, dances, dalliances and the ever present buzz of people wanting to reach the King's ear, but none had such near a place as Anne Boleyn. There were the inevitable rumours; Anne was pregnant, she and the King were secretly married, yet regardless of the sneers and whispered comments, Anne basked in the path of his Majesty's bounty like a cat in the midday sun.

Though life seemed unchanged, save for the face of lady at the King's side, all talk was of the arrival of Cardinal Campeggio and the impending legatine trial of Queen Katherine. But, for all the certainties of courtly life, the smooth and uncomplicated supplication of a Queen was not one of them. The process was frustratingly slow and Anne knew why. The Pope and his minion Cardinals, including Wolsey, were intentionally delaying the trial and waiting for Henry to either get bored or settle for a compromise. Henry, being the fickle King the whole of Europe knew him to be, was already showing signs of buckling.

In the palace's private gardens, Anne and Henry were walking. Until that moment they had both been in excellent moods, since it seemed the Pope had already decided in favour of the divorce and the couple could at last begin preparations for their marriage.

"Also, for the sake of appearances, there is something else." Henry broke from Anne's embrace and moved just out of reach, he seemed uncharacteristically awkward. "For a while I shall have to share Katherine's table... and sometimes her bed."

Anne stopped dead and glared at him, her jaw innately clenching and lips pursing into a sulkish pout.

"Her _bed_?"

Henry smiled ingenuously and said in a coaxing voice, "It's nothing, my lawyers have advised that to do otherwise would risk a countersuit. I could be seen to be acting against her conjugal rights."

"You think it's _nothing _to go back to bed with your wife?"

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"What usually happens." And Anne stormed off.

It was also plain knowledge to anyone in Henry's inner circle that the King, Wolsey and Campeggio, when they should have been focusing on preparing for the trial, were desperately trying to persuade Katherine to take the veil and retire to a nunnery. Of course, Katherine refused. She saw it as her God given right and purpose in life to be the Queen of England until the day she died.

Anne marched down the corridors of the palace at Whitehall, three attending ladies in tow, to her father's rooms. All she passed bowed or curtsied as though the Queen were passing and Anne could not help but feel the part, the only thing missing were the jewels. However, all confidence and feeling of satisfaction could be knocked down by a single face.

"Your Grace."

"Lady Anne" Charles bowed. Onlookers would see nothing in their exchange that hinted at discomfort or awkwardness. For their history, and its lingering effects, they managed to converse soberly though, whether the other knew or not, it was mutually felt they would prefer to meet alone.

"You are well?"

"I am."

"And your wife?"

"She is well also."

"I hear your wife has bore you a healthy son, your Grace" Anne said, her voice lacking in all celebratory.

"Anne.."

"No. I'm glad. I'm glad. Excuse me your Grace."

Anne walked away without another word, swallowing her protestations and grief like a bitter pill. All this time he had avoided him, that priority being nevermore so vital since the birth of his son. She knew they were wed and that the marriage was a loveless one and could take some console from the belief that they did not share a bed - many marriages made of convenience often resulted in the partners living separately, why should Charles and Margaret be any different? However, the birth of a child, a son of all things, confirmed that, regardless of love or the lack of it, the unhappy pair were still partaking their conjugal rights.

She carried on down the corridor, forbidding herself from turning her head back, and busied herself with playing Queen. Yet, there was that niggling feeling; the heightened sensation of anxiety that is ingrained on the human mind from the days when they still ran from wild beasts, and she knew that should she turn, she would see him still standing there looking at her. The feeling faded when she turned a corner and disappeared only when she wrapped her knuckles against her father's chamber door.

.

Thomas Boleyn was slowly pacing beside his desk, his left hand cradling his chin while his right folded under it across his stomach. Norfolk was sat at the desk staring blankly at the window while his brain trickled over the recent events at court.

"Papa, you- Uncle," Anne hurried a bowed head towards Norfolk not having expected him to be present, "you sent for me?" Boleyn continued to pace.

"Things are taking too long" The anxiety noticeable in her father's voice.

"And that's my fault?"

"Regardless, the King needs further _persuasion." _Norfolk said.

"What else do you want me to do? I made him fall in love with me! I speak against Wolsey at every turn! What more can I do? Would you have me poison Katherine for the sake of your precious titles?" Norfolk shot her a warning look; Katherine was still the Queen and if any should have overheard that little outburst they were fully entitled to call it treason.

"No, nothing so drastic," He slid a book across the desk towards Anne. It was a book she had poured over many times, Martin Luther's 'On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church'. In it Luther examined the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church, attacking the practices as a burden on believers only to display papal authority, like an opiate for the uneducated. In Catholic kingdoms the work of Luther was highly heretical and the possession of such books banned, punishable by branding or death by burning.

"Where did you get this?" Anne picked up the volume and flicked through the pages, she saw the pages and passages were marked, sentiments that had particularly spoke to her underlined in faded ink; this was indeed her copy "You have no right to go through my belongings.."

"We have every right." Norfolk took the book from her hands and feigned to read his prop.

"The King is on the edge of a great change, if he will not jump, then he must be pushed" He snapped it shut and placed it back on the desk as he eased his old bones back in to the chair.

"I've taken the liberty of speaking to Mr. Cromwell for you; he is sympatheticto your _philosophy_." Norfolk scoffed at the word, he was of the breed that kept their faith in their accountants' books and defined their deity by how far up in the world the believer may rise; hell was just a tick of the light. Anne reached for her book only for her father scoop it up first. He held it at Anne's eye line, again using the book as a prop to illustrate his point.

"I make no point of deeming what people should or should not think but Wolsey knows that we are his enemy. If we could find this, so could his spies. Be more careful with future copies." He nonchalantly threw the book into the nearby fire, the flames burning away the evidence of ownership. Anne balled her fist and bit her tongue as she watched her principles turn to ash. "I want to rid the world of Wolsey but I do not want to lose my daughter in the process."

"No, of course not, it would be such a shame to lose your family's greatest benefactor."

.

As expected, little more than a week later, Anne was sitting quietly by her chamber window, sewing a panel for her sister Mary, when Thomas Cromwell, the King's secretary and Lutheran sympathiser, was shown in to Anne's private apartments.

"Lady Anne," He said quietly. Anne put aside her work and rose from her seat, putting aside her embroidery.

"Master Cromwell. Do you have a message from the King?" She asked with a mix of hesitation and anticipation. Although she resented her father and uncle for presuming such action on her behalf she would be a hypocrite if she did not admit that she had been waiting for Mr Cromwell's visit with some trepidation.

Cromwell shook his head, gave a subtle glance over the room to check for servants, or Wolsey spies, who may report on their meeting, and lowered his voice. "I think we understand each other. A mutual friend, Mr Fysh, now living in exile in Holland, has sent me a gift for you." Cromwell produced a heavy book from his side. "_The Obedience of the Christian Man, _by William Tyndale. It contains many good criticisms of the papacy and of the arrogance and abuses of priests. You will find it most illuminating." Anne took the book, a slight ripple of excitement shiver through her fingertips and up her arm. He warned her to keep the book hidden but this she already knew, even without her father's lecture. Wolsey, More, there were plenty of men willing to burn or torture those who did not subscribe to the old beliefs, such treatment from _so _called_ 'men of reason'. _

As Cromwell turned to leave Anne called him back and requested that he take a trinket, a small favour laced with gold and red thread beaded with pearls, to the King as a token of her love. When she was alone Anne could not return to her needlework. She immediately sat and held the book in her hand. Slowly she pulled back the cover, opening the book's virgin paper and read the title page;

_The Obedience of a Christen Man, and how Christen rulers ought to govern._

She paused, tipping on the verge of the proverbial dagger. Once she had read the book, once she had introduced the King to the chapters most relevant to his great matter, there would be no going back. Playfully she flicked the pages quickly then with a devious smile began the first chapter.

_Ainsi sera, groigne qui groinge. _Let them grumble, that is how it is going to be.

.

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Laughter and loud voices filled the hall as the men ate and the musicians played. The food, as always, was delicious and the hall was a dazzling array of gorgeous clothes and flashing jewels. Another night at court, another banquet. For those not in resident at court, whether Lords from country estates or foreign delegates visiting, the nightly diversions the King arranged were no doubt entertaining and splendid but, for all Henry's opulence, the threshold for tedium had been reached and for Anne this dinner felt like the one before and the one after. Anne was sat with her father and brother far to the King's right, Anne's usual place was occupied by a princess. Margaret, recently and rapidly recovered from childbirth, had come to court. Anne's spit was practically venom.

A servant paused beside her and offered a plate of fruit arranged to look like a bouquet of flowers. "From His Majesty" he murmured setting the plate down between Anne and her father. Anne looked up the table to find the King watching her. He inclined his head with a little boyish smile and Anne likewise. Picking an apple from the platter Anne gave a small, quiet, satisfied giggle to herself. She sunk her teeth into the red skin and bit out a chunk of white, juicy flesh then with a cursory glance back up the table she saw the eyes of Margaret and Wolsey on her, both frowning, and Anne shot back a look of a victory.

However, there was another pair of eyes drawn to Anne. Well, there were many eyes drawn to her but only one other pair was important. Charles, sat by his wife, had his eyes trained on Anne since the moment she entered the room. Even as the meal ended and Anne glided to the floor, her attention fixed to the King, almost desperate to meet his gaze, Charles continued to stare at the mystical beauty which made the lavishly attired ladies look like frogs in the mud. Courtiers began to gravitate toward her, all frantic for her favour. Charles turned to his wife, who was staring at Anne with her lips curled. The princess abruptly got to her feet and stomped down on to the floor making a bee line for her brother. She stepped in front of him and curtsied, blocking his path to Anne. In vain she tried to dissuade him but only provoked him.

"Look to your own marriage." He hissed before stalking back to his path.

Anne curtsied demurely to her King, even the guards stood stoic at the far doors could see the air between them burn. They danced, only their hands faintly touching, their eyes locked, and they circled the floor in an ageless game of seduction. Their bodies drew close, retreated, touched, withdrew, and all the time the music played. Henry watched Anne as if he would devour her. They danced as if they were alone in the room, oblivious of the watching eyes, the whispered comments and the speculation.

The song ended and, in front of the whole court, Henry kissed her hand. To the side Anne spied Wolsey eyeing the King, the unwritten sign of '_we must talk'_.

"Should I come to you later?" Henry whispered.

"Not unless you have your annulment in hand."

Henry sniggered then skulked away to attend his business and Anne went back to her seat at the Royal table, taking the chair beside the King's. She called for some wine then sat back in her chair watching the rest of the court flitter about; she couldn't decide if they were more like a flight of sparrows or a nest of fire ants. There was the sound of heels clicking towards her from behind.

"Still leading my brother on? Well, I should never have expected more from a Boleyn."

"Oh Margaret" Anne took a large sip of her drink. "I cannot help that his Majesty is compelled by the attraction of youth. Surely you remember what that was like – even though it was such a long, long..." She inclined her head in greeting to a delegate from the Florentine court. "...long, _long,_ time ago."

Margaret sat down beside Anne. "You should aim for someone of your ilk. I would suggest an actor but there seem to be none here. I suppose one of the serving boys would do."

Anne casually leaned over to Margaret. "You know Lady Margaret, with all the titles his Majesty so generously and _so_ willingly bestowed upon my family; I believe a Duke would be more appropriate." She quietly sneered by Margaret, so close that each letter nearly licked at shell of her ear. Anne slowly dragged her eyes across the floor to settle on where Charles stood talking with the young Earl of Leicester. She turned back to Margaret whose mouth hung open, speechless. "You say I should look to my own kind, isn't that rather hypocritical coming from you?" Anne drained the remainder of her wine and waved the servant over to refill her glass. The ladies sat in silence for some time, Margaret furiously wordless and Anne drank glass after glass, she rather liked the buzz of wickedness it gave her. Eventually she couldn't resist the temptation any longer.

"Tell my Margaret, what is it like to live in a loveless marriage?" She laughed out loud and got to her feet, descending to the dance floor and taking her place amongst the sparrows. All about was mirth and laughter but Anne watched Margaret who was still sat, her eyes fixed in resolute hatred and indignation. Charles had seen the exchange and though he had not heard them, he knew something was amiss. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Margaret leave the table and slowly make her way towards Anne.

"If you get your way, which brats often do, you'll find out soon enough." She said calmly and almost kindly before turning to leave the hall. Anne suddenly raised her glass and called a toast.

"To the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk! A healthy son, Henry was his name? You must be thrilled, the son of a bastard next in line to the throne!" She gave a hearty, if not forced, cheer and started to drink when Charles darted out of the crowd and grabbed her arm, pinning it to her side and spilling her drink.

"Anne. That is enough." She broke away from his grasp; no one else in the room made a sound or dare move.

"Come now your Grace. Princess Mary is a sickly creature with a cruel temperament, even if she were to live to maturity who would marry her?" She scoffed.

"And since my coming to Court the King has not once visited the Spaniard in _that _manner, though I don't think it would matter since she's beyond any use." Anne laughed, it was a cruel and bitter laugh, and then started to twirl about the floor. She shouted at the musicians to play yet they remained still.

"Enough" Charles grabbed her again, this time with more force, his fingers digging in to her supple flesh and, for want of a better term, nearly dragged her out of the hall, kicking and screaming.

Anne screeched at him to let her go and when that failed she scratched him. Realising her nails did nothing to wound him she sharply kicked at his shins. Her toe connected with his leg and he released her but only temporary. In a flash Anne learnt why soldiers did not wear skirts. They gave the enemy something to grab. Charles, his rage starting to boil, reeled Anne back and with a considerable struggle flung her over his shoulder. Even though she could not run Anne proceeded to thump his back and kick at his chest but to no avail. She carried on all the same though.

Eventually, after a lot of bruising and harsh words, Charles reached Anne's chambers. Once inside he threw her off on to her bed, it was the only soft thing he could find. He began to leave when Anne called him back.

"You married the fucking Princess! It would have worked but you had to marry the fucking Princess!" Her anger, which had stirred so much drama earlier, crashed into despair and hot tears flooded her eyes.

"Anne, don't do this."

"It would have worked! We could have run away to France, to Italy, anywhere! Now it's too late..." Her voice failed her. Charles' strength floundered and he returned to sit beside her. Anne rested her head in his lap, occasionally sobbing, and unconsciously Charles ran his fingers through her hair, stroking her as one does when calming a devastated child.

"You do not love him."

"What else am I supposed to do? You married his sister. He was half a mind to cut off your head for that, how do you think he would react if you stole me from him too."

"I thought I already had?" He made her giggle and the tears stopped. Awkwardly she got up and rested her head on his shoulder. Charles cradled her in his arms, time slipping by into the night and only the lengthening shadows told of its passing. Gently he turned to look at her; Anne had fallen asleep a while ago yet he had hardly noticed since she had been so quiet and not put her weight on his shoulder. Carefully he lay her down and loosened the strings on her dress to make her more comfortable. He got to his feet but found himself unable to leave. She looked so peaceful. She did not look like someone who was unloved by family, or that was being used for others gain, she did not look unhappy. Charles leant one knee of the mattress and very delicately kissed her lips.

"There will come a time when I cannot do that." He whispered. She made no sign of waking so he kissed her again. He rested his face beside hers and breathed deeply, lilies, roses and a trace of jasmine. The scent of heaven. Charles stood and reluctantly tore himself from her side. He left her to sleep and savour the freedom she found in it but he did not go back to his wife.

.


End file.
